The Soul of the Father
by sugah66
Summary: [HIATUS] Enterprise must intervene when Vulcan teeters on the brink of civil war. 5th in a series, follows Secrets and Lies. AU.
1. Glaciers in Space

**TITLE: The Soul of the Father  
AUTHOR: Sugah Sugah  
SUMMARY: Vulcan is on the brink of civil war, and _Enterprise_ is caught in the middle, between the High Command and the mysterious Syrannites. Meanwhile, Kamea is introduced to Vulcan.  
SPOILERS: Through "Home" (season 4, episode 3)  
RATING: T – As always, language and violence. Parental discretion is advised.  
DISCLAIMER: If I owned anything having to do with Star Trek or "Enterprise", do you think I would still live with my parents? No, I don't think so. I'm just borrowing them and am making no profit. (Sad but true.) I'll return them when I'm done – mostly unscathed. Can't make any guarantees.  
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is the fifth installment in my alternate universe series, immediately following (well, not immediately following, but you get the idea) "Secrets and Lies". Newcomers to my fics might want to start at the beginning with "The One and Only", because otherwise you'll be pretty confused. But, I don't know, confused works for some people, I guess.  
A captain's log with stardate will be given in a later chapter, but this takes place approximately three months after "Secrets and Lies".  
Sometime during "Secrets and Lies", Kamea had her 59th birthday. I did not mention this then because I couldn't think of how to work it in.  
****Many props go out to the Vulcan Language Dictionary and the Vulcan Language Institute, as well as the online Hawaiian dictionary, the URL of which I cannot give you, but you could do a Google search if you really wanted to.  
****Also, mad props to shouldknowbetter, whose story "Repercussions" at Trip/T'Polers was the primary inspiration behind the Malcolm/Kamea storyline. Actually, most of the series helped in the inspiration department. It's a good read – check it out.  
****Dream sequences, character thoughts, and flashbacks are in italics. If you can't tell the difference between them, I'm really worried about you.  
****_Lolo_ – idiot  
****_Īlio wahine_ – bitch  
****_Kokame_ – god damn  
****_Kika_ – tiger  
****The conversation at the end of this chapter that should be in Vulcan was too long and too much to translate, and I'm lazy. So sue me. (But don't, really.)**

**Reviews are always appreciated. There are still a good many sad puppies in the world.

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**The Kamea Chronicles**

**Part Five: The Soul of the Father**

**Chapter One: Glaciers in Space**

Malcolm considered his next move. It wasn't easy; there were only so many moves he could take that wouldn't end in tragedy, but he had come this far and he'd be damned if he was going to lose after all the effort he'd put into it already.

"Would you move already?" Kamea asked, leaning back in her chair. "I swear I just saw a glacier go by."

He narrowed his eyes at her. She really was a very infuriating opponent. For some reason, she hadn't inherited the seemingly infinite Vulcan patience that T'Pol possessed – at least, not when it came to chess. "I'm contemplating my move."

Kamea raised an eyebrow. "Contemplate faster."

"Chess is a game of strategy, not speed," he said, his hand hovering above the board. His fingers had healed quite nicely; Phlox had taken the splints off the day before. "All of the greats took their time."

She rolled her eyes. "Name one."

Malcolm stared at her for a long moment. In truth, he couldn't even think of one chess player, but he wasn't about to tell her that. She had an annoying habit of remembering things like this and then lording it over him later. "I hardly feel the need to defend myself to a woman who considers _The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy_ to be fine literature."

Kamea growled low in her throat and looked away angrily. She hated when he insulted her taste in books, but she looked so sexy when she did that – the way she tossed her hair around, the way her nostrils flared – that he couldn't help but do it. "_Lolo_," she said.

It was muttered under her breath, but Malcolm heard. He had the feeling she'd meant for him to hear anyway. He took her bishop with his rook. "_Īlio wahine_," he said.

She moved her knight and sat back in her chair again. "Your Hawaiian is improving." She didn't seem the least bit offended by what he had just called her – probably because she could tell that there was no malice in it, just as he knew that she hadn't meant what she said.

He shrugged nonchalantly. "I try." He could barely keep the pride out of his voice.

Malcolm had been learning Hawaiian for the past three months and was getting pretty fluent in it. He started to learn the language because Kamea had a tendency to slip into it when she was upset or angry – or when she didn't want someone to know what she was saying. She also spoke Hawaiian when she was delusional and when she was asleep – the latter of which Malcolm had to deal with more often than not, as several months ago Kamea had learned that the insomnia that had plagued her for much of the past decade was nonexistent whenever she slept in Malcolm's bed. They had been sharing a bed – in a strictly platonic sense, of course, no matter how much Malcolm longed to make it otherwise – ever since.

She gave him a half-smirk. "Your modesty, however, needs work. Go."

He studied the board for a long moment and moved a pawn. She quickly captured the pawn using her other bishop and glanced up at him.

She looked better, now that she was able to sleep through the night. She had gained back much of the weight she lost, and her skin had more color in it. Her eyes had lost that haunted look, and her work was no longer suffering. More than one person onboard _Enterprise_ had commented about the change in her appearance, but to Malcolm's knowledge the only one who had any suspicions was Commander Tucker – and T'Pol, but she was always suspicious, and that came as no great shock to Malcolm.

"Do you need me tonight?" he asked. He leaned forward and put his elbows on the table, scrutinizing her.

Kamea shrugged with her one good shoulder – her other arm was still in a sling – but he noticed that she didn't seem able to look him in the eye. "I don't want to be a bother."

He smiled, pleased with the dark flush that tinged her cheeks and the tips of those delightfully pointed ears. "A beautiful woman who needs to be in my bed is hardly a bother."

She shot him a dark look so thoroughly Vulcan that he had to bite his lip to keep from laughing out loud. She really hated when he did that. But if the look on her face was any indication, she knew he was struggling not to laugh. "There goes that glacier again," she said, in a bad parody of indifference.

He rolled his eyes and moved his queen. "I'm choosing to ignore that comment, since there are no glaciers in space."

She moved her rook. "No, but if there were, they'd move a lot faster than you do."

"Nice to see you've not lost your sense of humor." He rested his head on his hands, surveying the remaining pieces on the board. Without looking at her, he asked, "Have you had any more of those dreams?"

She sighed. "No."

Though she no longer had the nightmares about her parents' deaths that had been the cause of her insomnia, she claimed to be having the most unusual dreams. She never delved into too much detail with Malcolm, but he had a feeling they had something to do with her father – mostly because now he could understand what she said when she muttered in Hawaiian. She talked a lot in her sleep. But when she was awake, she never wanted to talk about her father. He didn't want to pry, but it was obvious that she had some unresolved issues, and he just wanted to help.

He wanted her to let him help.

He glanced at her. She had dropped her head back, staring at the ceiling. "You're a terrible liar, Kamea."

She sat up and ran her fingers through her hair, and he licked his lips unconsciously, remembering how her hair felt against his skin. Then he started remembering how the rest of her felt against him, and the blood started to rush south. That had been happening a lot lately. He shifted to relieve the pressure in his uniform and said many silent thanks that he was sitting down.

"I'm not lying," she said, sounding only slightly annoyed, which was an improvement. "I haven't had any more – I keep having the same ones." She paused and began to play with her fingers. "It's…odd."

He stopped mid-move, his bishop poised above one of her pawns. "Odd how?"

"They're not like dreams," she said, tilting her head to the side so that it was almost parallel to the ground and swinging her hair back and forth. She liked doing that, he noticed. "They're like memories. Only I don't remember any of this stuff. And I'm not in half of them. Like I said – odd."

"But they're all about your father?" Malcolm asked. He took her pawn with his bishop.

The dark look returned with a vengeance. "Can we not talk about this, please?" She moved her knight with a little more vehemence than necessary.

Malcolm tried not to be hurt, but it wasn't easy. He didn't like the way she continually shut him out when he tried to talk about what was bothering her but then arrived at his room in the middle of the night and crawled into his bed. He was beginning to think that was all she wanted from him. The idea hurt more than he was willing to admit. He swallowed and nodded slowly. "Of course. My apologies."

She rolled her eyes, and he couldn't be certain, but she looked embarrassed. "Stop apologizing." The tone of her voice had softened somewhat. "You're always apologizing."

"Right. Sorry."

The corners of her mouth tugged upwards in the trace hint of a smile, and for a second Malcolm hoped she might actually laugh, but the moment was ruined when Captain Archer suddenly appeared beside their table. "Good afternoon, Lieutenant. Kamea."

Kamea nodded at Archer, and Malcolm sat up straighter in his chair. "Hello, sir."

Archer smiled at both of them. His attitude towards Kamea had grown considerably warmer since the incident on Altara, and for that Malcolm was grateful. The tension had started to get to him. "Am I interrupting something?" Archer asked.

"Malcolm and I were just discussing the meaning of life," Kamea said, draping her good arm over the back of her chair. "He thinks it's money. I think it's sex. What do you think, Captain?"

Malcolm was sure he had turned bright pink; the captain sputtered incredulously for a few seconds before regaining the ability to form coherent sentences. "I was wondering if I could steal you for a while," he said, his cheeks noticeably redder. "I want you to take a look at some of the star charts, see if you can tell us anything new."

She cocked an eyebrow. "The Vulcan star charts are extremely thorough. I don't know if I can tell you anything they don't already know."

Archer smirked. "Ah, yes, but the fact that you're willing to do so is more than I can say about any of the Vulcans." He coughed and rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. "I had asked T'Pol, but all she said to me was, 'That information is classified'. You'd think I was asking to see the specs for one of their top-secret warp drives."

"I can show you those, if you like," Kamea said. Archer and Malcolm both gawked at her. Malcolm couldn't tell if she was serious or not, but she didn't seem to be joking. She pulled her head back in apparent surprise at their reactions. "All right, fine. Just the star charts then. Well, I don't foresee that to be a problem. We were almost finished, provided Malcolm takes his turn sometime during the next century." Malcolm glowered at her and moved his queen. Kamea promptly took his queen with hers and said, "Checkmate."

Malcolm stared at the board in disbelief. He had carefully considered every move, painstakingly planned each attack. She had barely glanced at the board, spent no time examining the positioning of the pieces, and she had beaten him? There was no justice in this world.

Kamea grinned at him. "It appears as though you need to rethink your strategy." She stood up, ignoring the captain's proffered arm. "Good game, Lieutenant. We should do this again sometime."

Malcolm jerked out of his daze as the implication of her suggestion hit him. "Yes, that sounds agreeable," he said, looking up at her. There was a promise in her eyes that almost made him trip on his next words. "Perhaps later? I believe a rematch is in order."

She almost winked at him – her eyelid twitched a bit – but she wouldn't dare be so forward in front of the captain. "If you say so."

* * *

They had developed a routine, which they never spoke of because they weren't even sure what it was. At least, Malcolm wasn't. He couldn't speak for Kamea. But every night, around the same time, Kamea would sneak up to Malcolm's quarters and punch in the security code. Malcolm gave it to her so she would spend less time in the corridor, reducing her chances of being seen by passing crewmen. They decided that she would go to him instead of the other way around because, due to her refined senses, she was more adept at sneaking around.

Besides, seeing Kamea wandering the ship at night was practically second nature to most of the crew, and no one noticed her as she made the nightly trek to Malcolm's quarters. At least, no one said anything about it. But Malcolm had a sneaking suspicion that Commander Tucker knew more than he was letting on, if only due to the multitude of winks the commander seemed to be throwing him lately. Malcolm had learned to ignore him. He asked Kamea about it once; her eyes grew hard and she spat something in Vulcan, so he hadn't asked again.

He stayed awake until she came, using the extra time to catch up on work or read – Kamea had given him a copy of _The Teachings of Surak_, translated thankfully. She was like clockwork, practically the same time every night. He was beginning to anticipate it; he could almost sense her arrival.

At the beginning, he debated what he should wear to bed, and he tried something different every night. He found the Kamea slept more soundly whenever he just wore sweatpants, and he also found that he enjoyed the feel of her warm skin on his bare chest. Sometimes, in her sleep, she would trace patterns on his stomach. Her touch was feather light, and it gave him chills just thinking about it. She, on the other hand, generally wore a T-shirt and athletic pants, which he didn't think was fair. He was in a far greater state of undress than she was.

She would come into his quarters and go directly to his bed. They didn't speak – they didn't need to. He would put down whatever he was doing and slide against the wall. At first he'd patted the bed seductively as a joke, but that got old quickly. Now he just held up the covers, allowing her to slide in beside him. She would snuggle against him, draping her arms over him. It hadn't taken long for them to find a position that was comfortable. Sometimes they spooned, but usually Malcolm would lie on his back and Kamea would press her curves against him in all the right places. It took an enormous amount of self-control to stifle his body's reaction to her movements, because when she shifted against him, he was not responsible for his actions.

If she whimpered in her sleep, he held her closer and whispered encouragingly in her ear until she quieted down. Sometimes she quieted down right away, but sometimes it took longer, so he used his thumb to stroke her arms. Thanks to his universal translator, he now understood almost everything she said when she murmured in her sleep, so he knew what to say to her to calm her down.

He'd been thinking about it quite extensively for several weeks – he thought of little else – and he believed he'd come to a conclusion, thanks to some research about Vulcans he'd been doing. Apparently Vulcans were touch-telepaths, which was why T'Pol never touched anyone, and they could sense a person's emotions by touching him. His presence was calming for her, and that was why she was only able to sleep when he was in her bed. She didn't say that, but he could figure that out on his own, and he loved that she came to him for help.

He just wished she would talk to him.

Not that he was complaining about the situation. After all, there were a lot worse things in life than consistently sharing a bed with a beautiful woman, even if all they did was sleep.

Of course, sleeping together even in the most literal sense of the word had its advantages. For instance, Malcolm's hands a tendency to wander. Generally, they just found their way underneath the hem of whatever shirt she wore to bed and came to rest on the bare skin of her stomach. He learned early on that if they tried to go higher than that, he got kicked. He wasn't sure if Kamea was conscious of doing so or not, but one night the temptation had been too great and he'd snaked his hand all the way up to cup a breast. He immediately felt guilty for taking advantage of Kamea's situation, but most of the guilt had vanished when she'd kneed him soundly in the thigh. The bruise that sprouted the next morning was large, purple, and painful – and a constant reminder for him not to get fresh.

And even though he looked forward to it every night, even though sometimes all he could think about was how long until she was back in his arms, Malcolm was beginning to feel as though she was using him, and it was not a pleasant feeling.

He made a decision as soon as he arrived back in his quarters after his shift on the bridge. He was going to confront Kamea about their…unusual situation as soon as she arrived that night. They were going to sit down and discuss everything like civilized human beings, like rational adults, and he was going to force her to talk if it killed him.

Which it very well could. He'd seen Kamea mad. Not a pretty picture.

He was so nervous about the prospect of confronting Kamea that he wasn't able to do anything constructive all evening. He would sit down at his desk and attempt to review Commander Tucker's proposals for increasing the range of the torpedoes, but after a few minutes he began to fidget, and then he would get up and start pacing. Eventually, he gave up the idea of doing work altogether. He obviously was not going to get anything done.

In fact, he was so consumed in his own thoughts that he didn't even realize Kamea had entered his room until she spoke. "Is this a private party or can anyone join?"

He whirled to face her and felt his breath leave his throat. She wasn't wearing her usual bedtime attire; she was instead clad in only a tank top and a pair of running shorts, and Malcolm was quite positive he had never seen her bare legs before. "Kamea," he said. The word came out squeaky, and he flashed back to grammar school. He coughed and cleared his throat, trying to force his voice to return to normal. "I think we need to talk."

She groaned and rolled her eyes. "I'm too tired to talk," she said, stumbling towards his bed. "I just want to go to bed."

Malcolm quickly thought of something unsexy to stop the southerly flow of blood. "No, I really think we should talk."

She glared at him. "I don't want to talk. I just want to go to sleep. If that's going to be a problem, I can go back to my room." She moved towards the door.

"And not get any sleep?" he asked, and she stopped. "Because you won't. You said it yourself. Something about me helps you sleep."

Kamea turned to stare at him. "Well, you don't have to sound so smug about it."

He gave her a half-hearted smile, which faltered almost immediately. "Why won't you talk to me? Why won't you let me in?"

She shook her head. "There is nothing to talk about."

He scoffed. "What about the dreams you keep having? Don't try and tell me they don't bother you, because I know they do. Just because you don't wake up in a cold sweat doesn't mean they're not frightening you."

"Damnit," Kamea said, heading for the door once more, "I don't need this."

Malcolm reacted without thinking. He raced to the door and stood in front of it, blocking her exit. She snarled, baring her teeth. "That's pointless, you know. I could toss you aside without even breaking a sweat."

He didn't break eye contact. "If you wanted to, you would have done it without giving me a warning."

She looked away. "You're too smart for your own good."

He fought the urge to take her face in his hands. Touching her was not an option; it never really was, only when they were asleep and he could get away with it. "Don't shut me out, Kamea."

She buried her face in her hands and dropped to the floor, as if her legs had just been knocked out from underneath her. Malcolm went to her automatically, but when he reached out to lay a hand on her shoulder, she jerked violently away. "_Kokame_, Malcolm. Why can't you just leave it alone?" She dug the heels of her hands into her eyes. "I don't want to talk about. Talking makes it real and I don't want it to be real. Can't I just go on pretending that everything is fine?"

He sat down beside her, struggling not to put his arm around her. "I thought you said you were sick of pretending."

She snorted. "You know, I'm starting to think you do tape everything I say."

Malcolm smiled in spite of himself. "I told you before, I'm just – "

"Concerned," she said, her voice noticeably softer. Malcolm nodded. "And I appreciate your concern, however unnecessary it is." She paused, the tip of her tongue poking out from between her lips, and again, Malcolm said prayers of thanks that he was seated. "This is payback for beating you at chess today, isn't it?"

He lifted one shoulder in a barely perceptible shrug. "Let's just say I prefer our verbal sparring matches."

"So, in other words, you're a sore loser," she said. Her face was expressionless but her eyes sparkled.

Malcolm rolled his eyes. "Yes, that's it. Now, are we going to bed or not?"

"Lead the way, _kika_."

_

* * *

It had a familiar feel about it, as though she had been here before. But Kamea did not recognize anything about the room in which she now stood. Nothing about the room looked familiar; there was an odd assortment of artifacts scattered about – even the furniture looked weird. Nothing smelled familiar; it smelled like fire and desert. But she had the most bizarre feeling of déjà vu standing there. It was like a memory from a dream._

"_You cannot be serious, brother," said a voice off to the side. It, too, was unfamiliar._

_She followed the voice into the next room, and the strangest sight met her eyes. It was her father, only decades younger than he should have been. His hair was not tinged with gray but full and black, and he was leaner than she remembered. He was dressed in what she knew to be traditional Vulcan garb, and he was constantly pulling at the collar of his tunic, as though uncomfortable in his clothing._

_The woman to whom he was speaking was not her mother – and she hadn't expected it to be, since she hadn't recognized the voice – but another Vulcan, one she had never seen before but whom she knew immediately. The cheekbones, eyes, and expressions of the woman reminded her so strongly of T'Pol that Kamea knew at once this had to be her aunt, T'Les._

"_I am always serious, dear sister," Lorian said. "I am Vulcan,and as such am incapable of being anything but serious."_

_They spoke, naturally, in Vulcan, and though Kamea was fluent in her father's native language, she was having some trouble following the conversation. Perhaps it was the dialect that they were using, or perhaps it was because she hadn't ever witnessed an entire conversation spoken in Vulcan before._

"_Now is not the time for humor," said T'Les. "No doubt an incorrigible habit you adopted from the woman with whom you claim to be in love."_

"_My dear sister," said Lorian, "if you insist on acting like a juvenile, I shall reciprocate. Her name is Kalea, and I would very much appreciate it if you referred to her as such. After all, I do not call your husband 'that man'."_

"_You cannot marry a human," T'Les said. _

_Kamea now knew that this was not her own memory. It couldn't be. She had never been to Vulcan, never met T'Les, and certainly never witnessed this particular exchange. But how could she possibly be dreaming about something about which she had no knowledge? She knew that this conversation had happened – her mother had told her as much – but she knew nothing of the specific details, and she certainly would not have been able to conjure up a memory of how T'Les's house smelled if she had never been there._

_What in the hell was going on?_

_T'Les continued in a way that suggested to Kamea she had been practicing this speech for some time, just waiting for the perfect opportunity to recite it. "Think of the life your children would have, if it's even possible for you to have children."_

_Kamea watched her father carefully and was surprised by what she saw. He was actually rolling his eyes. Her father never rolled his eyes. "I have heard this argument before, T'Les. It did not sway me then. What makes you think it would have any impact now?"_

_T'Les stared at him for a moment, apparently speechless. Not only was he behaving in typical human fashion – or what T'Les probably believed to be typical human fashion – he had dropped the endearment "dear sister" and simply called her by her name. For all Vulcans droned on about nicknames and terms of endearment, Kamea guessed it was still pretty hurtful when someone suddenly switched like that._

"_Your actions are not logical, brother," T'Les said, and Kamea – as adept at she was at deciphering Vulcan emotions, given that she was half-Vulcan – could tell that she was hurt. But she was grasping at straws; Lorian had always gone on for hours about the different types of logic._

"_Based on whose concept of logic?" Lorian asked. "I am marrying the woman I love. If that is not considered logical, then perhaps I want nothing to do with logic."_

_Lorian turned on his heel and made to leave, but T'Les – in a surprising move that Kamea would not have expected – raced after him and grabbed his wrist before he reached the door. "Are you listening to what you are saying? Are you willing to turn your back on your people, your culture, everything you have ever known, because of this infatuation you have with this Earth woman?"_

_Kamea bristled automatically, and so, apparently, did Lorian. "I'll thank you kindly," said Lorian, "to not refer to my wife in such a manner."_

_T'Les pulled back in barely disguised shock, and Kamea grinned in smug satisfaction, even though no one could see her. "Your wife?"_

"_Not yet, but I intend to make it so. I have returned to ask for the High Command's permission to perform the bonding ritual."_

"_You are already betrothed, and even if you were not, the High Command would never agree to it. Humans do not have the emotional maturity to engage in interspecies relationships."_

_Lorian cocked an eyebrow. "Fascinating. You mentioned emotion, something that Vulcans do not recognize. I think, my dear sister, that you are just as confused as the rest of our people."_

_T'Les's eyes darkened. "You speak of the minority, brother. You would do well to hold your tongue."_

"_And you, dear sister," Lorian said, putting a little more bite on the endearment than before, "would do well not to discuss things about which you have no knowledge."_

"_I will not have you disgracing our family because you believe that you are in love. We are Vulcan, brother. We do not experience love."_

_Lorian almost smiled. Kamea could tell. "Perhaps you do not experience love, T'Les. But I do. And I intend to embrace it and cherish it, because there is nothing like it in this universe. And I am not going to throw it away because of some antiquated ritual that has little to do with me and everything to do with tradition." He turned to leave again._

_The door was open and Lorian had one foot through it before T'Les spoke again. "Lorian."_

_He stopped but did not turn._

"_If you do intend to go through with this sham of a marriage, if you insist on claiming that you are in love with this human, than you are no longer welcome in my house. You are not permitted to see my children. If you walk out that door, you are not my brother."_

_Lorian didn't even look back._

Kamea woke with a start. She jerked her head back so violently that she hit Malcolm, who – not surprisingly, that man could sleep like the dead – didn't even stir. They had shifted position in the middle of the night. She ended up on her side, wedged against the bulkhead, and he curled around her, his arms wrapped around her stomach.

And, once again, his hands had found their way underneath her shirt. She really would have to speak to him about that.

She buried her face in their shared pillow and tried to go back to sleep, but all she could think about was that dream. What did it mean? It wasn't one of her memories, she knew, since it had obviously happened before she was even born – before her parents were even married. So then where had it come from? And why?

It took a long time for Kamea to fall back asleep.


	2. Wrong Side of the Galaxy

**A/N: Information on Vulcan culture, physiology, and anything else having to do with the planet or the species is thanks to the Vulcan Language Institute, the URL of which I cannot give you for reasons as yet unknown to me (almost completely computer illiterate, unless it involves "point and click"), but you could do a Google search and find yourself there just fine.**

**Thanks so much for the reviews! You guys are awesome!**

**Rigil Kent – Don't worry. This story will feature plenty of T/T goodness!

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**Chapter Two: Wrong Side of the Galaxy**

"It's not the plasma flow," Trip said. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and hunkered down underneath the warp drive. He was exhausted, and it wasn't even dinnertime yet. For some reason, everything had decided to go wrong today. "I checked the injectors myself. There's got to be some kind of coolant leak."

"I think you're overlooking the fact that this ship is self-destructing from the inside out, and it's best to leave now while there's still time," said Kamea. She crouched down beside him and handed him the flux couplet. He shot her a dirty glare, which she ignored. "I'm just saying."

Trip grunted in response and crawled underneath the engine, hoping to find the source of the leak he knew was there. Kamea, for once, was no help at all. In fact, she was being downright annoying, and it was beginning to drive Trip up the wall. This was completely out of character; usually, she would be charging around the engine room, searching for the problem, just as he was doing. Now she seemed to be purposely antagonizing him, and he could think of no logical reason for the abrupt change in her behavior. She'd been fine yesterday.

"There's no shame in abandoning," said Kamea, and she slid underneath the warp drive to lie beside him. Nothing in her voice suggested that she was joking. "I doubt anyone would think any less of you for suggesting it."

"It's a coolant leak," Trip said, a little more forcefully than he had intended, but it didn't seem to faze Kamea one bit – unfortunately. "We've just got to find it."

He dug around in the warp drive for several minutes, but he was unable to find the source of the problem. Still, he kept looking. Something was causing the plasma injectors to malfunction, and he was determined to find it if it took him the rest of his life.

"Would you like my opinion?" Kamea asked after a silence.

"No."

Kamea smiled, braced her one good hand on the underside of the drive, and pulled herself out. "It's not a leak. It's a clog."

Trip crawled out and stared up at her. "A clog." It was the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard.

She nodded. "Peterson had an accident this morning, and a chunk of the tubing fell into the injector, blocking the plasma flow." She raised an eyebrow. "Of course, I don't believe 'accident' to be the correct term, since Peterson is clearly not qualified for this posting, but I suppose one has to take what one can get, considering the circumstances – "

He cut her off with a wave of his hand; if he didn't, she would ramble on for quite some time. "If you knew there was a clog, why didn't you say something?"

Her other eyebrow joined the first. "I did. Your exact response was, 'Don't be stupid, the injectors are fine.' I don't appreciate being called stupid, you know."

"I know." Trip buried his face in his hands. This was not what he needed right now. All he wanted was a shot of bourbon and a nap, and he knew he wouldn't be getting either any time soon. "This is payback for that crack I made about you and Malcolm the other day, isn't it?"

She gave him a malicious grin. "Did I not tell you, Commander, that what goes around comes around?"

It wasn't fair. All he had done was to make an innocent observation about the amount of time she and Malcolm had been spending together and the obvious change that their relationship had undertaken, and as punishment he had spent the past forty-five minutes searching the entire engine room for a non-existent coolant leak. Kamea made comments about him and T'Pol all the time, and he never retaliated against her – at least, not this way.

He stood up and stormed over to the plasma injectors. Sure enough, there was a piece of metal blocking the tube through which the plasma flowed, thereby causing the injectors to malfunction. He glanced at Kamea over his shoulder. "You have a cruel streak I'm not sure I like."

Kamea wandered over to stand beside him. "If _Enterprise_ had been in any kind of danger, I would have fixed the problem myself. But after the way you've been acting recently, I thought I'd have a little fun first."

Trip swore silently and shut off the injectors. "Vulcans don't have fun."

"Which is why I'm so very pleased I'm half human."

She assisted him in draining the plasma and removing the tubes in order to extricate the piece of machinery that was blocking the plasma flow. He could have done well enough on his own, but she wouldn't have been able to get very far, seeing as how one of her arms was still in a sling. Phlox said she had to keep it immobile for a while; he said she was lucky her arm was still attached to her body at all. It was something Trip didn't like to think about.

While they were screwing the tubes back into place, Kamea asked, "Is it only the injectors that's bothering you?"

He looked at her in shock. Sometimes, he let himself forget that she could pretty much read his mind. "What makes you say that?"

Her amused expression did nothing to help his mood. "Well, your reaction, for one. But you've been in a snit all day, and it's really irritating."

"I'm irritating you?"

"I didn't say that. What I said was, your behavior is really irritating."

Trip turned the injectors back on; they were working perfectly. "Isn't that the same thing?"

She cocked her head to the side. "Is it?"

He opened his mouth to respond but was stopped by Rostov, who raced over to grab him by the shoulder. "Commander Tucker, the number three turbine has just shut down."

Trip groaned and followed Rostov. "Would anything else like to go wrong today?"

"Don't say that," Kamea said, jogging beside him, "or something will."

A small group of Trip's crew had already gathered around the turbine, attempting to fix the problem, but no one had been successful yet. Trip bent down to assess the situation, but his mind was too unfocused at the moment to be of any real use. All he could tell for certain was that the turbine had indeed shut down. Other than that, he was stumped.

"Think it's a valve?" Rostov asked.

Trip sighed and shook his head. "We can't rule out anything at this point."

Kamea coughed. "Mind if I take a crack at it?"

Trip dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. God, what he wouldn't give for some neuro-pressure right now. He certainly could have used it; he wondered if T'Pol would even go for it. And as much as he hated the fact that yet another problem with the engines had popped up, he couldn't help but be grateful to Rostov for his timing. That conversation had been fast approaching a topic Trip didn't particularly care to discuss at the moment. "Whatever floats your boat."

Kamea examined the turbine for several long moments, then reared back and kicked it. The turbine immediately sputtered to life, and everyone turned to stare at Kamea.

"How'd you do that?" Trip asked, after he had put his eyes back in his head. Should he be worried that that was two problems she'd fixed in the span of ten minutes, and he couldn't even focus enough to find what the problems had been? He was pretty convinced that the captain wouldn't replace him – he may have warmed up to Kamea, but he still didn't trust her – but it was a little frightening, that he didn't know _Enterprise_ as well as he thought he did.

She looked at him, her face completely expressionless. "I rule."

He sighed again. "Seriously, Kamea."

She rolled her eyes, obviously sensing his irritation. "Like I told the captain, never underestimate the value of a good kick. Now, are we going to discuss what's really bothering you, or would you like to insult me some more?"

"Honestly?" Trip said, standing. "I think I'd like to insult you some more."

Kamea pursed her lips and looked down at her feet. "Puerile humor notwithstanding, if there is anything that you need to talk about, I'm more than willing to listen."

Trip grunted and turned on his heel, heading for his office at the back of the engine room. What he needed to talk about was what was going on with T'Pol, but he had tried asking Kamea about that before and she wouldn't tell him anything. But months had gone by with him able to sense T'Pol's presence, anticipate her arrival, and feel out her emotions. He tried doing research, but he didn't know what he was supposed to be looking for, so that tactic had stalled rather quickly. Besides, Vulcans were incredibly private, and most information about their culture was unknown. Trip liked to think he knew a bit more about Vulcans than the average human, but he still didn't know much.

It was that though that stopped him in his tracks, causing Kamea, who had been following him, to slam into him. She grumbled something in Hawaiian and walked around him, apparently also headed for his office.

He had contemplated having a relationship with T'Pol dozens of times, and never had he even realized that he knew nothing about her culture. After their encounter with the other _Enterprise_, Lorian told Trip a lot about his and T'Pol's marriage, including how they'd been married in a traditional Vulcan ceremony. Until his visit to Vulcan to witness T'Pol's wedding to that rat-bastard, Koss – Trip's stomach clenched involuntarily just at the thought – he hadn't even known what a traditional Vulcan ceremony consisted of. He didn't really know anything. That trip to Vulcan, he'd learned a few choice Vulcan phrases and some points of interest planetside, but other than that he really couldn't claim to be an expert.

He walked into his office and found Kamea seated in the chair behind his desk. Her feet were propped up on his desk, and she was holding a PADD at arm's length.

"I've told you before I don't like when you do that," he said.

"Yeah," she said, completely ignoring him. She remained in the chair and didn't even glance up from the PADD. "You have done that. My memory must be going. I bet it's old age."

He rolled his eyes. "T'Pol's older than you are, and her memory is fine."

She looked at him. "It is, isn't it? Oh, and speaking of T'Pol – "

Trip groaned as loudly as humanly possible without damaging his throat. "I should've seen that one coming."

Kamea grinned. "But you didn't." She set down the PADD and got out of his chair to let him sit down, which he did. She sat on the corner of his desk, instead. "So what's up with you two lately, anyway?"

Trip picked up her discarded PADD and scrolled through it. "Nothing," he said, sighing. It was the truth. He and T'Pol had barely been alone together in months, though he couldn't be certain whether that was just unfortunate coincidence or an intentional effort on her part.

Kamea raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

"I wish I knew what was going on," he said, tossing the PADD aside. It clattered across the desk and eventually fell on the floor. Kamea reached for it, and it zoomed into her outstretched hand. "Things between us are so…" He trailed off, gesturing futilely with his hands, searching for the proper term. But he couldn't think of one; he had absolutely no idea how to describe his and T'Pol's bizarre relationship. "I have no idea."

"Think it has anything to do with that message she got from Vulcan the other day?" Kamea asked, once again engrossed with the PADD.

Trip looked up at her in shock. This was the first he'd heard of any message. "What message?"

Kamea froze, her eyes wide. She obviously thought he'd known. She glanced at him. "I was rather hoping you'd know, actually. T'Pol wouldn't tell me anything."

He stared down at his desk, completely numb. A message from Vulcan could only mean one thing: Koss. He'd learned about _pon'farr_ from Kov and knew that if Koss were to suddenly experience symptoms, T'Pol would be expected to return home to fulfill her…spousal obligation. The thought made Trip physically ill.

"I'm sure that's not it," Kamea said, playing with her fingers. "If it were _pon'farr_, T'Pol would be experiencing symptoms as well. Also, she would have requested immediate transport to Vulcan. If the _pon'farr_ goes unresolved, eventually the person in question succumbs to the _plak-tau_."

Trip gripped the edge of the desk so hard that his knuckles turned white. He knew she had probably read his expression and not his mind, but he couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that she knew exactly what he was thinking. The more time he spent with her, the more creeped out he got. If he didn't know for a fact that she was spending every night in Malcolm's room, he would've thought she just needed to get laid. "I hate it when you do that, too."

"_Pon'farr_ is really a fascinating concept, when you think about it," said Kamea, continuing as though Trip hadn't even spoken – something else she did an awful lot that he didn't like. "Do you know that all native Vulcan life is synchronized to the same seven-year cycle? It has something to do with solar activity, or something. And it would seem that I was incorrect in my original statement, when I said that a Vulcan male is only fertile during _pon'farr_. I've been doing some reading, and apparently all Vulcan animal life can, for lack of a less clinical term, breed at any time during the year. Of course, I wasn't about to ask my parents for information about their sex life, because witnessing that neuro-pressure thing satisfied my curiosity quite nicely…"

He banged his head off the desk repeatedly, each "thud" growing more pronounced as Kamea rambled on. This was information he could have gone the rest of his life without knowing. Still… On the off-chance Koss ever died in some kind of freak accident and he and T'Pol ever had a ghost of a chance of living happily ever after, it might be useful to know some off the stuff that Kamea was spouting off.

"Any reason you feel like being a walking encyclopedia today?" he asked in a very clipped voice.

Kamea didn't even flinch. Whatever Malcolm was doing to her in his quarters every night, she was much calmer than before. "I thought the knowledge might appease your worry that T'Pol will one day leave the ship." She ran her fingers through her hair. "From what I understand – "

"Look, I'm really not anxious to hear about your parents' sex life, okay?"

Kamea narrowed her eyes at him. "Someone got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning."

Trip sighed and rested his forehead on the edge of the desk. "Try the wrong side of the galaxy."

Kamea slid off the desk, grabbed the collar of his uniform, and yanked his head back. "You just missed a perfectly good opportunity to make some offensive and wholly unfounded remark about Malcolm and myself. You are obviously unwell, and I should take you to sickbay as soon as possible."

Trip tried to summon up the energy to be angry, but he couldn't quite manage, because at the moment his mind was clouding over with a sudden surge of jealousy that could only mean one thing.

"Am I interrupting?" T'Pol asked from the doorway.

Some small part of Trip's fuzzy, frazzled brain realized that this probably didn't look very good from where T'Pol was standing, but he really didn't care at the moment. "If I said 'yes', would it make a difference?"

"I believe that's my cue to leave," said Kamea. She rested the wrist of her good arm against the small of her back and skittered out of his office, acknowledging T'Pol with a nod as she passed her.

Several minutes of stony silence followed Kamea's abrupt departure, but finally T'Pol said, "Perhaps it is none of my business – "

"It's not," Trip said, with as much malice as he could muster. She had some nerve, parading into his office unannounced and making assumptions based on one second taken completely out of context. She should know by now that he was not interested in Kamea in any kind of romantic sense; in fact, he was exercising considerable restraint not to inflict physical harm upon her, though he knew she could take him easily.

He could tell T'Pol was hurt by his icy tone, but it was just one of the many things about which he did not care. She took a deep breath before speaking. "I wish to speak with you."

Trip gestured at his empty office with both hands. "Speak away, darling."

He sensed she was irritated, but she wasn't about to let it show. She hated when he called her that. "I have been recalled."

Trip could only stare at her. "Recalled?"

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, something Trip had never seen her do, so he knew she must have been upset. "I received the message several days ago, but I wanted to validate its authenticity. There appears to be some sort of political upheaval on Vulcan. The High Command has requested my presence."

Trip stood up so violently that his chair was thrown backwards. "You're Starfleet now. You don't answer to the High Command."

T'Pol's eyes were shining, and only then did Trip realize she was very close to crying. That stopped him; T'Pol had never cried before, never even been close to it. Not in his presence, at least. "I cannot turn my back on my people, Commander." She paused, taking a shaky breath. "I intend to tell the captain as soon as I reach the bridge, but I… I wanted to tell you first."

Not good. Not good. Definitely not good. "How long will you be gone?"

T'Pol shook her head. "I don't know. There is a possibility that I will have to remain there permanently."

His mouth was dry, his tongue thick and heavy, and his head was spinning. He'd just known, when he woke up this morning, that this day was going to suck to high hell. "Permanently?"

She nodded slowly. "Once I have returned to Vulcan, it is highly probable that Koss will ask me to stay."

Trip felt fire flare in his belly. "He can't do that."

She looked at him. "It is a reasonable request. I am his wife."

"In name only," Trip said, practically spitting out the words.

T'Pol's eyes hardened. "It is the Vulcan way. I entered into this marriage knowing what the consequences would be. It was not a decision made lightly, and I do not intend to go back on my word." She took a deep breath and crossed her arms. "If Koss asks me to remain, I will. It is what I have to do."

Trip felt his legs give out from under him. He tried to collapse into his chair, but he'd forgotten that he knocked it away, so he fell to the floor. T'Pol hurried over to see if he was okay, but he jerked away from her outstretched hand. "So that's it, then."

She held his gaze for a moment, then nodded. "Yes."

His eyes stung with tears, but he wasn't about to cry in front of T'Pol. He cleared his throat and stood, shuffling through the papers on his desk as though this little piece of information didn't bother him in the slightest, when he really felt like his heart had just been ripped out of his chest and shown to him. "Well, if that's it," he said, hoping his voice didn't sound as fragile as he felt, "I've got a lot of work to do."

T'Pol recoiled as if struck, but her expression remained impassive. She nodded curtly. "Of course. I apologize for taking up so much of your time, Commander. I must report to the bridge."

Trip barely managed to wait thirty seconds after she had left before collapsing against the wall and finally giving into the urge to cry.

* * *

T'Pol went directly to the bridge, though her chest had constricted to the point where she feared it might cut off her air supply. Her eyes burned with tears she was too Vulcan to shed, but the struggle to remain calm was more than she could manage. This…overwhelming sense of grief was not unknown to her, but she hadn't felt it quite as strongly as she was feeling it now. Even during her wedding, when she had knelt there with Koss and thought about how she could not be with Trip, she had not felt this lost. Deep in her brain had always been the knowledge that, though she would be wed to Koss, she would be on _Enterprise_ with Trip. Now she faced the very real possibility that she would never see Trip again. It, quite simply, hurt.

To the rest of the ship, she was the picture of Vulcan stoicism. Her face was a mask, her expressions unreadable, but as she made her way to the turbo lift, she felt like she was crumbling with every step she took. How did humans deal with such emotions? How could they live every day with this kind of power just waiting to be released? It was a time bomb, threatening to explode and engulf her completely.

She had known that telling Trip would be difficult, but she could never have anticipated how unbearable it would be. Perhaps without the bond it would have been easier. T'Pol had been able to feel every emotion coursing through Trip's body during their entire exchange – she could still feel them now – and his emotions amplified her own. Perhaps it was because they were bonded that the pain was so intense. She did not think she would be able to live with this kind of pain on a daily basis. When she returned to Vulcan, in the event that Koss did ask her to stay, she would have to look into having the bond severed.

It was Koss, in fact, who had contacted her several days ago – not the High Command, though she was expecting a communiqué from them any day now. Koss had informed her, very briefly, of the political problems Vulcan was experiencing, claiming that civil war was imminent. He mentioned that she should expect a message from the High Command, asking her to return and assist. He also told her that her mother had disappeared; he wasn't certain if she had left of her own free will or if someone had abducted her, but he had gone to visit her one afternoon and found her office at the academy empty. The house was empty as well. No one had seen T'Les in days.

Solen had warned her about this, all those months ago, on the voyage to Vulcan with Trip. He told her about the upheaval in their traditions, about the political unrest that had been rumored. She hadn't believed him, assumed he was just looking for an excuse to see her. Now she wished she had listened to him.

But she had been to Vulcan. The only indication that there was any kind of upheaval was her mother's dismissal from her position at the academy, which had been rectified by T'Pol's marriage to Koss. It was the only reason she had consented to marry him, and if her sham of a marriage were in vain, she would have wasted months bound to him when she could have been with Trip. The idea was too unpleasant to dwell on.

By the time she arrived on the bridge, she had managed to control the flood of emotions that threatened to drown her. Trip, she knew, was still struggling to deal with them. But she also knew that he would. He was used to it.

Kamea, at Commander Tucker's post, looked up the second T'Pol stepped off the turbo lift. T'Pol had had great difficulty dodging the younger girl over the past several days; she seemed very intent on discovering the subject of Koss's message. For the most part, T'Pol had managed to avoid her, but the look on Kamea's face suggested that she knew something was amiss, and it would only be a matter of time before she found out what it was. She was good at that.

"Kamea," Captain Archer said, and the girl turned to look at him, "are you sure those coordinates are accurate?"

Kamea raised an eyebrow. T'Pol knew that she had been assisting Travis and the captain in updating the star charts. The captain had asked T'Pol to help, but that information was classified. Kamea, on the other hand, seemed to have no problem revealing classified information, so naturally Archer had gone to her. "Positive, Captain. I double-checked them myself."

"So no chance of us flying straight into a black hole or something?" Archer asked, grinning. He was certainly much more jovial of late, back to the old Archer from the early days of the mission. It was comforting, in a way.

"Black hole?" Kamea asked. "No. Neutron star would be my bet."

Archer, Hoshi, Travis, and Malcolm turned as one to stare at Kamea, who smiled sheepishly. "Okay," she said, suddenly becoming highly engrossed in the console before her. "Never a good time for that joke, apparently."

"You might want to consider one that doesn't involve our grisly demise," said Malcolm. He threw Kamea a wink, and she blushed and looked away. But T'Pol could see the corners of her mouth tug upwards in the trace hint of a smile.

T'Pol watched their interaction, wondering if she and Trip could ever act that way. They'd never acted that way before, but there was nothing to say they couldn't, if they wanted to. And she did want to. She just couldn't. In that way, she was envious of Lieutenant Reed and Kamea – the only thing preventing them from entering into a relationship was their intimacy issues. The hurdles in their path were self-imposed and not something quite so legally and morally binding as a marriage.

But then, T'Pol had placed that hurdle in her path by choosing to wed Koss. Although, really, what other choice had she had?

The bridge crew, led by Malcolm, began to make jokes at Kamea's expense. T'Pol was half tempted to tell them to stop, because she knew what it was like to be the butt of jokes and it was not a pleasant feeling. Kamea, however, did not seem upset in the slightest. She laughed good-naturedly with the rest of them; her laugh was so effortless, so genuine. It was another thing T'Pol envied about her cousin.

"Captain?" Hoshi said, after the laughter had died down somewhat. "We're receiving a message." She turned to the captain. Her face was as solemn as T'Pol had ever seen it, and she knew immediately that this was the message for which she had been waiting. "It's Admiral Forrest."

If Archer was surprised, he didn't show it. "Onscreen, Hoshi," he said, still chuckling from some joke of Travis's.

Admiral Forrest appeared on the view screen. He looked tired and haggard; T'Pol suspected he was putting in a good many late nights because of the turmoil on Vulcan. No doubt Ambassador Soval was keeping him busy. "Jonathan," the admiral said, acknowledging the captain with a nod of his head. "Has Ambassador Soval been in contact with you?"

Archer shook his head, and the amused look on his face had dissolved into one of confusion. "No, Admiral. Soval hasn't sent us anything. Why?"

Forrest sighed and scrubbed one hand over his face. "I suppose he's left it up to me to break the news to you, then. I'm sorry, Jon, but I've got to order that you return T'Pol to Vulcan as soon as possible."

T'Pol stiffened automatically. Though she had already known this was coming, it was still unnerving to hear it coming from Admiral Forrest. Everyone on the bridge looked at her, though not all at the same time. They didn't attempt to be subtle about looking; Kamea, in fact, stared at T'Pol with one eyebrow raised. T'Pol forced herself to keep her eyes trained on Admiral Forrest and decided to ignore the heat tingling the tips of her ears, which meant that she was blushing.

Archer turned back to the admiral. "What the hell for?"

Forrest shook his head sadly. "Something's seriously wrong on Vulcan, Jon." He didn't even reprimand the captain for his foul language. "The High Command has recalled all of its personnel. All Vulcans are to report immediately. It's bad, Jon."

The captain's eyes darted around the bridge wildly. "How bad?"

Admiral Forrest rolled his eyes and scratched the back of his neck. "The Vulcans aren't telling me anything – just that T'Pol needs to return to Vulcan a.s.a.p." He exhaled through pursed lips and leaned forward, resting on his elbows. "I fought for her, Jon, I really did. But they can't make any exceptions."

T'Pol hoped that Archer would argue with the admiral, but she knew that he wouldn't. It was a foolish, illogical hope. But she did not want to return to Vulcan, knowing that she would probably be forced to remain there indefinitely.

Archer sighed heavily and dropped into his chair. "Travis," he said, lolling his head back and closing his eyes, "set course for Vulcan. Maximum warp."

"Yes, sir," said Travis, and he began to do just that.

"I am sorry about this, Jon," Forrest said, and he did sound sincere.

Archer shook his head. "It's not your fault, Admiral. You tell Soval that we'll have T'Pol there in three days."

Forrest nodded. "Goodbye, Jon."

Once the admiral had disappeared from the screen, and all that could be seen were the stars streaking silently by, a heavy silence fell over the bridge. T'Pol could feel the others' eyes on her, but she refused to look up from her console. If she made eye contact with any of them, she would be forced to answer questions for which she did not have answers. So she ignored them.

After several minutes of silence, Kamea cleared her throat. "On the plus side," she said, "he didn't notice me."


	3. The Problem

**A/N: Sorry for how short this is! I had more in mind, but I'm going away this weekend, and it's already been over a week since I updated. I didn't want to leave you guys hanging for much longer without a new chapter.**

**Thanks for the continued reviews! Kudos and cookies to all y'all!**

**Rigil Kent – Yeah, I liked some of the things TPTB were doing in the fourth season, and I thought this would be a good opportunity to introduce Kamea to the Vulcan people. Hope it works out like I want it to!**

**P.S. Apologies for any grammatical and/or spelling errors. I posted this in kind of a hurry.

* * *

**

**Chapter Three: The Problem**

_Jonathan Archer's Person Log: October 2, 2154_

_We are currently en route to Vulcan to return T'Pol and offer our assistance in any way we can, though why we should is a mystery to me. The Vulcans didn't help us with the Xindi – the Andorians did – and I am not willing to risk the lives of my crew for something that I don't even know what's going on. Admiral Forrest was unable to tell me anything about this political upheaval, because Soval won't go into specific details, but according to T'Pol there have been several uprisings in various cities by a group called the Syrannites. The fact that T'Pol has told me anything is a surprise in itself, but she told me that she felt it was her duty to let me know what I was getting _Enterprise_ into._

_T'Pol says that the Syrannites are a radical faction that have a different interpretation of Surak's teachings. Apparently, they have been a source of conflict for decades, which surprises me, as I assumed all Vulcans had an aversion to violence. However, it would seem as though the Syrannites' version of Surak's sayings is a lot more liberal than the High Command's. I am reminded of the Crusades, a series of wars fought between Muslims and Christians in order to reclaim what Christians believed to be their holy ground. Battles raged for centuries, hundreds of thousands of lives were lost. I hope I'm not leading _Enterprise_ into a Vulcan Crusade._

_I don't want to lose my science officer, but T'Pol has told me that there is a very real possibility her husband will ask her to stay on Vulcan once this whole crisis has been resolved. I can't even begin to imagine what replacing T'Pol will be like, but I know one thing for certain: it just won't be _Enterprise_ without her.

* * *

_

The ship was fraught with tension; Kamea could feel it. It practically emanated from the hull, from every piece of equipment on board. Crewmembers were walking around like ticking time bombs – the slightest misunderstanding or thoughtless joke could provoke them into exploding. Kamea was under constant stress from the effort of trying to stifle not only her own emotions but others' as well. She felt everything they felt, magnified times a thousand billion million, because she felt what everybody was feeling. It was beginning to wear her down, and it was all stemming from one person.

She watched Trip from across the mess hall as he picked at his dinner. It was his favorite – blackened catfish – and he hadn't taken one bite. He'd mashed it up with his fork until it was unrecognizable as fish, then until it was unrecognizable as food, and then until it was unrecognizable as biological matter. Then he stirred the mushy fish bits around his plate for a while, then he sculpted them into what she assumed was supposed to be some sort of pyramid, then he flattened said pyramid and started the entire process over again.

Kamea raised an eyebrow. Humans were so weird.

Malcolm, sitting next to her, noticed none of this, thoroughly engrossed as he was in the PADD he was reading. "I think if we upgrade the power converters it should help with the firing mechanism."

_For the love of Surak,_ though Kamea, _is he still harping on this?_ Malcolm had been trying to get the weapons systems upgraded for weeks now, ever since Trip and Kamea had finally finished with the warp drive. They had yet to test the modifications, but Trip was confident with the results and positive that they could hit warp six if they prayed hard enough. The only trouble was, now every department wanted upgrades – better, more efficient equipment and the like. The only one who hadn't complained was Phlox, and apparently Captain Archer had to put his foot down, saying that whoever wanted improvements to the ship would have to design the specs themselves. That shut a lot of people up.

But not Malcolm. Archer's ultimatum had made him work that much harder. The past few nights, he stayed up late into the night, which affected Kamea's sleeping schedule, making the stress on the ship all the more difficult for her to deal with. Try as she might, she couldn't get him to drop the issue, so she humored him when he began to drone on about it. Needless to say, her aimless meanderings about the ship had resumed.

Kamea kept her eyes on Trip but her ears were tuned to Malcolm. She had gotten quite good at multi-tasking at a young age, and Malcolm had yet to notice that she wasn't looking at him. "A distinct possibility," she said, taking a bite of her pasta salad. "Would you like to be the one who upgrades the power converters?"

He glanced up at her, saw that she wasn't paying attention, and snapped his fingers in front of her face. She hated when he did that, so naturally he did it a lot. "Of course not. That's engineering's job."

She just looked at him. "Malcolm, you're the one that wants this done. It's not a necessity, and frankly, I'm not even sure it's feasible." She grabbed the PADD from him and scrolled through it. "All right, so it's feasible."

"The captain said improvements would be made provided we came up with the plans ourselves," said Malcolm, sounding more than a little defensive.

Kamea immediately switched tactics, sensing that the usual approach wasn't going to work. "Yes, I know. I was there. But in order for this to be done, you would have to run it by Trip, and he's not doing anyone any favors lately."

"Yes, I've noticed that," Malcolm said, gently taking back the PADD. Trip's fuse was practically nonexistent; one had to say very little to him for him to completely blow up. Most of his crew were afraid to approach him with any problems – they'd been coming to Kamea for days now. "Which is why I was rather hoping you'd broach the subject with him."

Kamea raised her eyebrows. "Me? Why me?"

"Well, you seem to be the only person he'll talk to without ripping your head off."

"Where have you been lately?" she asked, gesturing at Trip with her entire arm. "He spent most of the morning blaming me for problems that occurred before I even set foot on _Enterprise_. He has most assuredly lost it."

Malcolm gave her a wry smile and sipped his coffee. "He has his reasons."

She shook her head and reached across the table for her water. "I find it hard to believe he's just accepting this. He can't just sit idly by and let T'Pol leave _Enterprise_. He has to fight for her, otherwise she'll think he doesn't really care about her."

"That's bollocks," Malcolm said. "He's proved on more than one occasion how he feels about her."

Kamea rolled her eyes. "Spoken like a typical guy."

Malcolm narrowed his eyes. "And what is that supposed to mean?"

"It means," Kamea said, turning in her chair to face Malcolm completely, "that you have no idea what you're talking about. And you couldn't possibly. You've never been involved in an interspecies relationship." She ignored Malcolm's sputters of protest – they weren't technically in a relationship, so this…thing…they had didn't count – and continued. "T'Pol would literally be risking everything if she were to date Trip. She's not about to do that if she's not entirely sure how he feels about her."

"How can she be uncertain?" Malcolm asked, and Kamea sincerely hoped she was imagining the hurt in his eyes. "Hasn't he made it completely obvious?"

Kamea cocked her head to the side, wondering if they were still talking about Trip and T'Pol. "The only way he could make it completely obvious would be if he were to tell her how he feels."

Malcolm groaned loudly, taking Kamea by surprise. "That's complete crap, Kamea. Words mean nothing. Words can be misconstrued, words can be manipulated, words can lie. Actions are the only way a person can interpret how someone feels about her."

"Actions lie, too," she said. She turned away from Malcolm, and her thigh brushed his as she moved. She shuddered involuntarily and did her best to clamp down her traitorous body's reaction. _Actions lie,_ she thought, drinking greedily from her water glass in order to hide the flush creeping up her cheeks. _But instincts don't._

A very heavy silence hung over the table. Then Kamea became conscious of the fact that Malcolm was sliding his chair closer to hers. She inhaled sharply through her nose as his leg came into direct and prolonged contact with her own. He leaned toward her, bracing his arm on the back of her chair and effectively trapping her between him and the table.

"So," he said, deliberately dragging out the word, his mouth very close to her ear, "what doesn't lie?"

She swallowed. She knew that Malcolm had been reading up on Vulcans ever since she'd started coming to his bedroom every night, so he had to know that their ears were extremely sensitive. _Damn that man. He doesn't play fair._ "Vulcans."

He guffawed heartily, and Kamea breathed easier as he slid his chair back to its original position. "I thought you said Vulcans lie all the time."

She forced a smile, but her insides were twisting themselves in knots. "Okay, you've got to be taping everything I say."

After dinner, Kamea went to sickbay, as per Phlox's request, and finally had the sling removed. Her shoulder had completely healed at last. Kamea was so happy about not having to wear the sling anymore that she did a series of acrobatics that almost got her injured again. She spent the rest of the evening helping Phlox track down the bat she let escape when she knocked over its cage.

Later that night, instead of going to Malcolm's room as usual – he would be up working on those damn power converters – she went to the gym, desperate to work off some of the nervous energy that had been plaguing her the past few days. And who should happen to be there but the source of all things tense and awkward. She exhaled through pursed lips and took the treadmill directly beside Trip, set the treadmill one of the slower settings, and started to walk.

"The sling's gone," he said, using his head to gesture at her unbound arm.

She nodded, resisting the urge to throw her arms up in celebration. "Yeah. Phlox just took it off a couple of hours ago. How's it look?"

He grinned maliciously at her. "I'm sure this will make things with Malcolm a lot easier."

Kamea narrowed her eyes, set her treadmill for the fastest setting, and started to run. She couldn't believe he had just said that. No, that wasn't true. She could totally believe it. After all, he made some sort of indecent remark about her relationship with Malcolm almost every time he saw her, even more so since he and T'Pol hadn't been speaking to each other, so she wasn't sure why she was so surprised. "Congratulations, Commander, you almost made it an entire minute without being a complete jackass."

Trip cast a sideways glance at her, then sped up his treadmill as well. After a while, he was panting heavily while she was breathing normally, not the least bit winded by the exercise. She fought the urge to roll her eyes. He was hopelessly out of shape.

"Slow down, will you?" he asked. His hands gripped the bar of the treadmill so tightly that his knuckles were white, and he looked very comical indeed as he tried to keep up with the treadmill's rapid pace. "I can't keep up with you."

"No one said you had to," she said, but she did lower the setting so that she was doing a brisk jog instead of a run. "It isn't a competition."

"The hell it isn't," Trip said, slowing his pace to match hers.

They jogged in silence for a while. Kamea kept her eyes forward, though she sensed Trip looking at her occasionally. When she could stand the furtive glances no more, she turned to face him. "You have a problem, Commander?"

He shook his head, and she returned her gaze to the wall. But a few seconds later, he asked, "Talked to T'Pol lately?"

Kamea smiled. _Of course_. He'd been unable to talk about anything but T'Pol for the past two days. He would bring her up in conversation, attempting to be casual, then steer the topic away from her if it got too intense. "Nope," she said. "She's barely been out of her quarters since we got the message from Admiral Forrest. Packing, supposedly."

"So…you don't know anything about Vulcan's political problems?"

She just looked at him. "Do I look like I know anything about Vulcan's political problems?"

He gave her a sheepish expression and slowed his pace to a walk. She followed suit. "I just thought maybe T'Pol had told you something."

Kamea rolled her eyes, shut off the treadmill, and allowed herself to slide off the machine and onto the floor. "I told you. If you want to talk, all you have to do is ask."

Trip sighed and shut off his treadmill. He braced his hands on his knees and hunched over, trying to get his breathing under control. "She can't stay on Vulcan."

Kamea shook her head slowly and stretched to the tips of her toes with her arms above her head. "Apparently, she can, and she intends to do so. T'Pol has already done a lot of things that Vulcans don't typically do. I think she feels that she has to prove to her people that she's willing to adhere to their cultural norms. Refusing her husband's request to remain on Vulcan could seriously affect her and her mother's status on the planet."

Trip glared at her. "I thought you'd be on my side in this."

She made a noise in the back of her throat and bent forward to touch her toes, keeping her eyes trained on Trip. "Commander Tucker, there aren't any sides to speak of. Do you know what T'Pol would be risking if she stayed on _Enterprise_?"

"Yes," Trip said, refusing to meet her gaze. "But…your dad did it."

Kamea shot him a half-hearted smile and stretched her left leg out behind her. "That he did. However, he was not married at the time – only betrothed. Perhaps if you hadn't waited until she was married to realize your feelings, things might have turned out differently."

He stood up so suddenly that Kamea was certain she heard his spine snap into place, and he put his hands on his hips in a posture eerily reminiscent of her mother. "That isn't what happened."

"Oh, really?" Kamea said with a grin. Months had passed and the crew was still gossiping about the commanders' joint trip to Vulcan. No one seemed to know what had happened, other than the obvious. "Then what did happen?"

Her grin faded at the look that he gave her. He could have melted the outer hull. "That is none of your business."

She held up her palms in a gesture of concession. "All right. None of my business. But if you want my advice, I think you should talk to her."

He made a noise that was somewhere between a groan and a grunt. "T'Pol and I have never been able to talk about this."

Kamea raised her eyebrows. "Maybe that's the problem. Good night." She turned to leave.

"Wait."

She stopped but did not turn, cocking her head to the side. "Yes?"

Trip walked over to her. "How did your mom do it?"

Kamea furrowed her brow in confusion, completely oblivious as to what Trip was trying to ask. "How did my mom do what?"

He sighed in exasperation and began gesturing futilely with both arms. "How did she convince him to leave behind everything he ever knew to marry her?"

Kamea could only stare at him. Did he think it was so easy? Did he think her father hadn't seriously considered the ramifications of his decision? Did he think her mother had somehow tricked her father into marrying her? What exactly was he thinking? Was he thinking at all? Obviously not. "He loved her and wanted to marry her. Very little convincing was necessary."

Trip's face fell. "But T'Pol married another man. So she must not – "

Kamea cut him off with a wave of her hand. "T'Pol put her mother's happiness ahead of her own. Her feelings are a non-issue where that is concerned. But I happen to know for a fact that – "

She stopped abruptly. This was none of her business. She should stop now before she said something she would regret, because when word got back to T'Pol, her cousin would most assuredly kill her, and Kamea didn't particularly want to be killed. "Never mind."

She started for the door again. Trip jogged to catch up to her. "No, you can't just stop like that. You know what for a fact?"

Kamea glanced sideways at him. "I know that you should talk to T'Pol."

He shook his head. "That isn't what you were going to say."

She groaned. "No, but it's what I should say. It's really not my place to say anything. You want to know what's going on with you and T'Pol? Ask T'Pol. I'm going to bed."

She was almost to the door when he finally spoke again. "Give Malcolm my best."

He was so unbelievably infuriating.


	4. The Distinguished Vulcan

**A/N: Opinions expressed in this chapter (and throughout the series, really) are mine and mine alone. Relationships that may be proposed in this story have no basis in fact (within the parameters of the show, of course – remember, science fiction) and no evidence to support them. I just thought they made for some good story telling.**

**As usual, dreams, character thoughts, and flashbacks are in italics.**

**_Kane_ – men**

**P.S. Some time may pass between updates. Please bear with me and check back weekly for the latest chapters. I probably won't update more frequently than that. I apologize, but a girl's gotta earn her paycheck, unfortunately.**

**Thanks so much for the continued reviews! Hope you guys like this latest installment as much as you liked the sorry excuse for a third chapter I gave you last time.**

**Rigil Kent – Congratulations! You get a gold star.**

**West Dean – I agree with you about this being the best thought out plot point of season four, which is why I stuck with it. Hopefully you'll like my version of the story.**

**Scarletwitch0 – Oh, I'm burning myself out all right, but not because of this.

* * *

**

**Chapter Four: The Distinguished Vulcan**

_The room was clean, unnaturally so, and whiter than anything Kamea had ever seen. How a room could possibly stay so clean and white was beyond her, though she guessed it had something to do with the pompous-looking Vulcan who sat in a swivel chair behind the large mahogany desk in the center of the room. The air was thick with condescension. Kamea could practically smell it as she entered, lagging slightly behind her father, who was in a rare rage._

_Lorian walked directly up to the desk and stood in front of it, his body rigid. His outward appearance betrayed no hint of his inner turmoil, which Kamea could feel as though it were her own. He was pissed off, and he was pissed off at the man in front of him. "Why did you do it?" he asked._

"_What am I supposed to have done?" the Vulcan asked, not even glancing up from the mound of paperwork behind which he was hidden._

_As before, they spoke in Vulcan, but Kamea understood every word, automatically translating their dialogue into English, with which she was more comfortable. She did not bother to wonder how she had ended up where she was, or even where she was. She thought she might be finally beginning to understand what was going on inside her head._

"_You know what," said Lorian. He walked around_ _the desk and Kamea got her first good look at the subject of her father's rage. _

_He was distinguished looking (but still pompous), with gray flecks throughout his hair and wrinkles just beginning to form at the corners of his eyes. She knew him by sight but not by name. His forehead was creased with concern, though she could tell that it was fake. There was nothing sincere about this man. She could tell from his demeanor, from his non-expressions, from the way he carried himself, and by the hardness in his eyes as he stared at her father. "I'm sure that I have no idea to what you are referring." _

_Lorian licked his lips, an unconscious action she had often seen her mother do when she was irate that her father must have picked up. "My daughter was denied acceptance into Starfleet."_

_Kamea's breath caught in her throat. She remembered being destroyed when the rejection letter arrived in the mail. All she'd ever wanted to do was join Starfleet and become an engineer. She'd had no idea that her father had gone to someone on her behalf. He merely insisted she keep applying, said that if she bombarded them with applications then they'd have no choice but to accept her. So she had continued to apply, year after year, every time open enrollment came along, until it became almost habitual. They never accepted her._

"_I am sorry to hear that," said the distinguished Vulcan, returning his attention to his paperwork, "but I am not responsible for Starfleet decisions. You should speak with the admiralty."_

"_I have," Lorian said. He put his foot on the edge of the chair and turned the Vulcan to face him. "They informed me that you personally requested that they deny her application. Something about her being a threat to the organization."_

_The Vulcan stared passively at Lorian for a few seconds, then shook his head and went back to his work. "Lorian, you have become paranoid after all your time on Earth. You are starting to develop the very human habit of jumping to erroneous conclusions. Perhaps you should look into that."_

"_Damnit, Soval, don't deny it. I know you were responsible for this. This whole situation reeks of your interference."_

_Soval? This was Soval? The man responsible for her rejection from Starfleet was the Vulcan ambassador to Earth? T'Pol spoke of this man with great affection and admiration, and he had personally asked the Starfleet admiralty to refuse Kamea's admission into the academy? It didn't make any sense. It was almost as if T'Pol were speaking about another, but how many people could there be with the name Soval?_

_Soval looked at Lorian. The hardness in his eyes was gone, almost instantaneously, and Kamea got the feeling that whatever he was about to say, it would be spoken sincerely. "I am sorry about that, Lorian, but it was not my decision. I was asked to speak to the admiralty on the administrator's behalf." Soval stood up, and Kamea was suddenly struck by his commanding presence. No wonder he was the Vulcan ambassador. "But you must know that this has little to do with your daughter and much to do with you."_

_Her father sighed imperceptibly and nodded his head. "The thought had crossed my mind. I hate to think it. I don't want to believe that I have caused my daughter pain."_

_The two men faced each other for what seemed like an eternity before Soval reached out and gently placed his hand on Lorian's shoulder. Kamea's eyes widened automatically. Vulcans abhorred touching – even she couldn't stand it most of the time – so what in Surak's name prompted Soval to engage in such intimate behavior?_

"_You knew the consequences of your decision when you made it, brother," said Soval, and he removed his hand from Lorian's shoulder._

_Kamea's jaw hit the floor. Brother? Good god. Why the hell was she just finding this out now? Was it just her subconscious playing tricks on her? If so, it wasn't funny. But something inside her told her that this was the truth, that in addition to the aunt she had never met, she also had an uncle who had been in contact with her father and simply refused to see her. She was suddenly glad that her father had not informed her of this meeting; she did not think she could have stood it._

_Lorian stepped away from Soval. He could not believe what he was hearing. "This should not be one of them. Do not punish my daughter for whatever mistakes I may have made."_

_Soval cocked an eyebrow. "Ah, so you admit that you made a mistake in marrying the human?"_

_Her father recoiled as if struck. "No." He said it so vehemently that there could be no doubt. "My marriage to Kalea was not a mistake; how I handled it was. If I were given the chance to do it over again, I would do it differently. But I would still do it."_

"_You have made your choice, then?" Soval asked. He sounded disappointed._

_Lorian nodded, his jaw set. He was sure of it. "I made my choice a long time ago, brother. I have never regretted it. And you should know that my daughter will continue to apply to Starfleet."_

_Soval almost smiled. "And you should know that she will continue to be denied."_

_"We shall see," said Lorian, and with those words still hanging in the air, he left the office.

* * *

_

Malcolm was roused from a deep slumber by the sound of Kamea muttering in her sleep. It wasn't the first time this had happened, and it probably wouldn't be the last.

His eyes strained in the dim light to make out the blurred numbers on his chronometer, and all he could tell was that it was very, very early. Much too early to be awake, especially after he had stayed up late into the night working on the specifications for his projected phase cannon upgrades. Kamea had finally convinced him to come to bed around one, and he couldn't have been asleep much longer than an hour or two before she woke him up, mumbling in what he assumed was Vulcan, since it wasn't Hawaiian.

She must have been dreaming about her father. That's all she ever dreamed about, or so he imagined. He wasn't exactly certain, since she wasn't all that willing to discuss it with him. She did, however, seem to discuss it with others – namely Commander Tucker. The thought bothered him more than he cared to admit. He'd fancied T'Pol, way back in the early days of the mission, and Trip had gotten to her; he didn't think he could bear it if Trip somehow stole Kamea from him, too.

_He's not going to steal her away, you bloody fool. He's mad for T'Pol. And anyway, whose room is she popping by in the middle of the night? Not bloody Tucker's, that's for damn sure._

Malcolm lay on his back and stared at the ceiling, wondering just when this five-foot nothing, impossibly arrogant, incredibly annoying Vulcan had wiggled her way into his heart. No woman in all his history of women had ever made him feel the way that Kamea made him feel. She made him sweat, made his heart race, made him think, put him on edge, pissed him off, challenged him, insulted him, and she ended every day by crawling into his bed. His bed smelled like her. His room smelled like her. It was almost too much.

It was her eyes, more than anything. The way she looked at him, with those eyes that were so impossibly blue, it was almost like she was looking directly into his soul. Her gaze, her stare, was so intense, so mesmerizing, that it sucked him in no matter what.

_Man, you are gone._

Kamea whimpered softly, and Malcolm rolled over onto his side, curling around her. His arms wound their way around her stomach and pulled her flush against him, pressing her back against his chest. She began to mutter again. He didn't understand what she was saying, as she was speaking in Vulcan, but he whispered soothingly into her ear until the murmurs stopped. He wondered if he should start learning Vulcan as well. It would probably come in handy, as they would reach Vulcan later that morning.

He had only been to Vulcan once, years ago, and even then he had not left the Earth embassy. He knew that the political situation on the planet was dire, but he hoped he might be able to do a little sightseeing while they were there. It had been months since they'd had a decent shore leave, and he was so hoping to spend some time on a planet and not get assaulted in some manner.

Kamea, he knew, was worried about their arrival. She'd had very limited interactions with Vulcans before coming aboard _Enterprise_. Basically, the only Vulcan she'd spent any vast amount of time with was her father, and now T'Pol. But the majority of Vulcans were much different from her family members, and she knew that; hence why she was worried. She would never admit it, but he could tell. She was so tense that he could feel it in her body – which he was trying very hard not to do, after she'd kneed him that one time. It was incredibly difficult, to lie in the same bed with her and resist the temptation to let his hands wander, but he was proving to be the poster child for restraint. He'd allowed himself to indulge once, she'd kneed him, and he hadn't done anything appropriate since – although he still managed to wake up with bruises that hadn't been there the day before.

Quite suddenly, Kamea jerked awake, and the back of her head smacked into Malcolm's face.

"Son of a – " Malcolm said, removing his hands from Kamea's stomach and grabbing his nose. His eyes watered from the pain, and he wondered if this was the reason he woke up with unexplained bruises in the morning.

"God, I'm sorry," said Kamea, rolling over to face him. If he hadn't been in so much pain, he might have cared that her eyes were big and wide, and her cheeks were stained with tears. But all he could focus on was the fact that it felt like someone had just slammed a two-by-four into his face. That girl had a really hard head.

Like that was some almighty revelation.

"I think you broke my nose." Malcolm sat up, settling his back against the bulkhead and cupping his hands around his throbbing nose.

Kamea knelt in front of him. "I did not, you big baby. Now let me look at it."

Despite being insulted by the "big baby" remark, he dropped his arms as she leaned forward to examine the damage. And for all she claimed to have boundary issues, she was getting pretty close to him. Her face was inches from his, her breath was a warm rush against his lips, and if his nose didn't feel like it going to fall off, he might have done something about the problem in his nether regions, which he hoped to God that Kamea didn't notice.

"I bet it's the size of a pineapple," he said, trying to ignore just how close she was to him, and how amazingly sexy she looked in that tiny tank top and a pair of his old, worn-out athletic pants.

She tentatively reached out to touch his nose. He hissed his a sharp breath as her fingers came into contact with the tender skin, but he wasn't sure if it was from the pain or something else. "It's fine," she said. "It's an improvement."

He must have made some kind of face because she smiled and laughed a little, and he had to admit, it was good to hear her laugh. She so rarely laughed or even smiled when it was just the two of them anymore, when they were alone in the confines on Malcolm's room – when she had to face reality instead of dealing with the charade she insisted on putting on for the members of the crew. "That's not funny," he said.

Her smile faded from her face but lingered in her eyes, which he saw now were shining with tears. "I thought it was hysterical."

Malcolm cocked an eyebrow. "You certainly don't look like you're in hysterics." And she never would. She was Vulcan, whether she liked it or not.

Kamea's face was impassive, expressionless, as she said, "It's on the inside."

They sat in silence for a while, with her kneeling between his legs, her fingers massaging and kneading his nose, which no longer hurt as much, though a dull ache had set in. She was intent on her task, but he couldn't take his eyes off her face, where the tearstains were still visible. "You want to tell me about it?"

She shook her head. "No."

A sigh escaped his lips before he could stop it. "Why?"

"We've been over this, Malcolm," Kamea said, and there was a coldness creeping into her voice that he knew all too well.

He grabbed both her wrists, forcing her to stop her ministrations, lowered her hands, and pulled her forward until there was no more than a hair's breadth separating their bodies. He was hoping to intimidate her into talking, but the plan was backfiring rapidly. She was so warm, so soft, and so close, and if he didn't kiss her soon his head was going to explode. He swallowed in a vain effort to clamp down those urges and said, "Tell me. You can tell me, you know. You shouldn't have to do this alone."

Much to his extreme pleasure, her breathing hitched. She shut her eyes tight and turned her head away from him, though she made no move to distance herself. "You won't believe me when I tell you what's wrong."

Malcolm furrowed his brow in confusion. _What's so hard to believe about a couple of nightmares? Hell, even I have nightmares sometimes. It's perfectly natural._ "You don't know that," he said. He couldn't help but be hurt that she continued to shut him out. "After everything that's happened to us these past few months, how can you say that to me?"

She looked so dejected that his heart broke at the sight of her. "I'm sorry, Malcolm. I don't mean to shut you out, I just…" Her voice trailed off and died away, seeming to echo in the darkness of his room.

The silence that hung in the air was deafening. Malcolm released his grip on Kamea's wrists and skimmed his fingers up her arms, watching in delight as goose bumps dotted her flesh and she shivered beneath his touch. She was close, so close, all he had to do was lift his chin and he'd be kissing her. All he'd dreamt about for months was kissing her, being with her – in the Biblical sense – and here was his chance. If he didn't take it, he would regret it for the rest of his life. The small part of him that felt incredibly slimy for taking advantage of Kamea's obvious vulnerability was drowned out by the much larger part of him that was reminding him just how long it had been since he had been with a woman in any kind of sense.

He surged forward, intent on pressing his lips to hers, but she pulled back at the last second. "It's my father," she said.

If she had hoped to kill the mood, mission accomplished. Deflated, he leaned back against the bulkhead, putting necessary distance between them. She wasn't telling him anything that he didn't already know. "I gathered."

Kamea looked at him; her eyes were bottomless – she was giving him the same kind of look that she had on that first fateful day in sickbay. "I think he did something to me."

Malcolm raised an eyebrow and cupped her face with one hand. He was really starting to worry about her. "Kamea, your father has been dead for nearly nine years."

She made a noise of disgust in the back of her throat and pulled completely away from him. He was hit with a rush of cold as her body warmth moved away. "I know that," she said, sounding affronted. She slid off the bed and walked over to the window. "I think he did something to me."

Malcolm buried his face in his hands. He obviously wasn't going to get any sleep tonight. He was pleased that she at least wanted to discuss what was wrong, but he couldn't quite mask the skepticism in his voice when he said, "All right. So what do you think he did to you?"

She leveled a wounded gaze in his direction. "I told you that you wouldn't believe me."

He laughed before he could stop himself. "Well, it is pretty unbelievable."

She rolled her eyes and turned back to the window. "_Kane_," she said through clenched teeth, and he smiled. "He's in my head, Malcolm. He's in my head, and he won't leave me alone."

Malcolm sighed in exaggerated patience and swung his legs around, so that he was sitting on the edge of the bed. "Kamea, you're just dealing with residual guilt from the attack. You consider yourself responsible for what happened to your parents, and this is your way of holding on. You need to let go."

He was impressed with his interpretation of the situation. Psychology wasn't his strong suit, but he had ample time to think about Kamea and her late-night problems, and short of discussing it with Phlox – which she had made him swear that he would not do, stating that it was her problem and she would deal with it – he couldn't come up with any more logical explanation.

"Then how do you explain my dreams?" she asked.

He shrugged. "I don't know anything about your dreams." It was the truth. Aside from her mentioning, maybe once, that they were more like memories than dreams, he didn't know all that much about them.

Kamea growled, low in her throat, and leaned against the wall, bracing both hands on it. "I'm seeing things in my sleep – things that I know happened but I never saw. It's like I'm seeing it through my father's eyes, like he wants me to see them."

Malcolm was intrigued. "For example?"

There was a moment of silence. Kamea, her hands still braced against the wall, had dropped her head down and was staring at the floor. So when she spoke, it was to the floor, and Malcolm almost didn't hear her. "Ambassador Soval asked Starfleet to deny my application to the academy."

Malcolm wasn't sure whether to be surprised or not. Soval had never been fond of the human race, but Malcolm couldn't quite picture of him making a request like that. It seemed, somehow, beneath the Vulcan. "Are you sure?"

Kamea snorted. "No. How can I trust anything that goes on inside my head? But I think it's true. I mean, the medical database lists me as human, so what other reason could there be?"

Truth be told, Malcolm couldn't think of one. Kamea was more than qualified to be in Starfleet, and if her application had been sent through normal channels and given the same consideration as everyone else's – and it should have been, if the admiralty didn't realize that she was a hybrid – then she should have been accepted. But still, Malcolm couldn't see the ambassador making a request like that. "I don't know," he said honestly.

She turned around and collapsed against the wall, sliding to the floor. "I'm going crazy."

His chest clenched painfully. He hated to see her like this. He got off the bed and walked over to her, kneeling beside her. "You're not crazy," he said, and even though his brain was screaming for him not to, he stroked the top of her head. "We'll be arriving on Vulcan within a few hours. Their doctors can examine you, and maybe they'll find out what's wrong."

Kamea jerked her head around to stare at him, her eyes wide and fearful. "No doctors."

Malcolm pulled his head back, confused. "But if they can – "

She shook her head. "No doctors," she said again, more forcefully this time. "Don't let them touch me. Promise me, Malcolm."

He gulped. He knew he couldn't make a promise like that. Once the High Command learned of the existence of a Vulcan/human hybrid, they would of course what the Science Directorate to examine Kamea to see if it was true; they certainly wouldn't believe Phlox's findings, simply because he was the physician on an Earth vessel, and because Vulcans were stubborn arses.

But she was looking at him with those big, bright, impossibly blue eyes, and he heard himself saying, "I promise."

She fell into his arms and buried her face in the crook of his neck, and he knew he would seriously pay for that lapse in judgment.

* * *

Vulcan.

It loomed just outside Trip's window, taunting him with its red color and its Fire Plains and its bizarre customs and rituals that had pretty much ruined any chance he'd had of ever having a future with T'Pol. He had hoped that the next time he saw Vulcan would be because T'Pol was getting a quickie divorce from that bastard Koss, not because T'Pol was being forced to return to the planet permanently.

He wondered idly if he could soup up _Enterprise's_ weapons so that they were powerful enough to destroy an entire planet, like in that movie _Star Wars_. Sure, T'Pol would be momentarily devastated at the loss of her home world, but then she would get over it and they could live happily ever after, frolicking across the field of flowers and riding off into the sunset and such.

God, how he hated that planet. It was just sitting there, mocking him with its very existence, and its stupid political problems.

He was so wrapped up in his hatred of the planet that he didn't notice someone had entered his room. "I'm thinking of making a break for it."

Trip turned and saw Kamea hovering in the doorway, leaning against the doorjamb with her arms folded protectively across her chest. The look on her face resembled something that one might find on a caged animal. Her whole body was tensed, as though preparing to flee. She walked over to him, plastered a big fake smile on her face, and asked, "Care to join me?"

The smile he gave her was just as fake. "It really isn't so bad."

She lifted one shoulder in a barely perceptible shrug and used her head to gesture at the planet. "If it wasn't going to kill billions of innocent people, I'd give serious consideration to blowing the whole thing to bits."

He raised an eyebrow, turning back to the window. "Could you do it?"

She shrugged with both shoulders this time. "It'd probably kill me in the process. Of course, I'm not convinced that's such a bad thing, at this point in time."

Trip winked at her. "Malcolm would miss you."

She looked at her nonexistent watch, apparently trying to judge just how long it had been before Trip had mentioned Malcolm. The two of them couldn't seem to have a conversation without the armory officer's name coming up. "So close that time, Commander."

Trip allowed himself a hearty laugh and immediately felt guilty for momentarily forgetting that he was supposed to be miserable, not laughing. For a good minute or two, he and Kamea stood in silence. Then he thought of something. "What are you doing here?"

Kamea kept her eyes trained on the planet looming in the window before her. "I figured you were the one person on this ship looking forward to this as much as I was." The sarcasm was evident in her voice. She ran her fingers through her hair and looked down at her feet. "I'm afraid of what they'll do to me."

Incredulous, Trip stared at her with wide eyes. "What they'll do to you? You're Vulcan."

"Half-Vulcan," she said, trying and failing to keep the bitterness out of her voice. "Half-human. Might as well be fully human. They'll never consider me Vulcan. They'll probably have me executed just for suggesting the idea."

Trip licked his lips. "They're not like that."

Kamea shook her head, as though in disbelief. "I don't know," she said. "My father told me some stories. I mean, you can't really trust his opinion, because of what they did to him, but those were some dark stories."

"Attention, everyone," the captain's voice echoed in Trip's room, "we are currently in orbit around Vulcan. Senior staff report to the bridge."

Trip looked at Kamea with raised eyebrows. "Ready?"

She exhaled through pursed lips. "Not entirely. But I supposed I had better become so."

They made their way to the bridge, where the rest of the primary bridge crew had already assembled. Captain Archer acknowledged the both of them with a nod, and Trip took his post, while Kamea lingered in the back, near the turbo lift. Trip could feel T'Pol's eyes on him, but he determinedly avoided her gaze. He hated to leave things like this – she meant too much to him for him to send her off while they were fighting without so much as a goodbye – but maybe it was better this way. Maybe it would help with the healing process.

And maybe monkeys would fly out of his ass.

Once everyone was settled, Archer nodded at Hoshi. "Hoshi," he said, "contact the High Command."

In a matter of seconds, the familiar face of Ambassador Soval was staring down at them. Trip had never cared for the guy, but he felt kind of sorry for him as he saw the state the Vulcan was in. He still looked as distinguished as ever, but the stress of the situation must have been getting to him, because there wasn't as much starch in his spine as usual, and there was no condescension in his eyes or his voice when he said, "Captain Archer, it's good to see you."

Trip was amazed. He almost sounded like he meant it.

Archer nodded. "It's good to see you, too, Ambassador. I'm sorry it couldn't be under more pleasant circumstances."

Had Soval been human, he probably would have sighed. But he was Vulcan, and therefore gave no such emotional response. "I apologize that we are taking away your science officer, but we need everyone that we can get."

"No trouble, Ambassador," said Archer, which Trip knew was a flat-out lie. The captain had spent much of the past three days holed up with Trip in his quarters, drinking bad Scotch and complaining about how the Vulcans were still managing to run the ship, even with them so far out in space. "We understand that T'Pol's presence on Vulcan is necessary. Would you like us to send a shuttle down, or – "

Soval almost looked panicked. "No, that won't be necessary. I don't wish to inconvenience you any further. We shall send a shuttle to retrieve T'Pol."

Trip and Archer exchanged a glance. The normally stoic Vulcan was acting jittery – or as jittery as a Vulcan could get. Something was definitely up. Archer turned back to the view screen. "Admiral Forrest has given us leave to offer our assistance, if you – "

"That's all right, Captain," said Soval, and Trip couldn't help but notice that that was the second time the ambassador had interrupted the captain. "We appreciate the offer, but we won't be needing _Enterprise's_ help."

Of course the Vulcans would refuse Archer's offer of assistance, but Soval would never have said that he appreciated the offer. He also wouldn't have apologized for taking T'Pol away from her duties, since he didn't think she should be on _Enterprise_ in the first place. He also, Trip noticed suddenly, wouldn't be fidgeting in his chair. And was that sweat forming on the Vulcan's brow?

Archer cleared his throat. "If you don't require our assistance, would it be possible for us to – "

"I'm sorry, Captain," Soval said, "but I don't believe that it's safe for any of your crew down on the surface. We shall send a shuttle for T'Pol within the hour." And then the view screen went dead.

For a moment, no one spoke. Trip wondered if they were all thinking the same thing that he was. He chanced a glance at T'Pol and saw that she looked completely perplexed. Her brow was furrowed, and her eyes darted back and forth, as though trying to come to terms with what she had just witnessed. He turned to look at Kamea and saw that she was staring at the now blank view screen with a look of utmost resentment on her face. She exhaled loudly through her nose and turned abruptly away, suddenly becoming fascinated with the door to the turbo lift.

Trip coughed. "That went well."


	5. A Less than Ideal Homecoming

**A/N: I AM SO SORRY. I really hadn't meant for so much time to pass between updates. I was having computer problems. Long story short, I have a new computer, I'm up and running, and I should be able to type for long periods of time without the computer randomly locking up and me losing all my work.**

**Surak's sayings are courtesy of the Vulcan Language Dictionary.**

**Spot the reference to TOS and win a cookie.**

**_Pi-maat_ – family**

**_E ana maika'i no 'oe_ – You will be fine.**

**_Mai ho'okaumaha_ – Don't worry.**

**_Dakh pthak. Nam-tor ri ret na'fan-kitok fa tu dakh pthak._ – Cast out fear. There is no room for anything else until you cast out fear.**

'**_A'ole. E mai makemake hele._ – No. I don't want to go.**

**_Pono 'oe._ – You have to.**

**_Na'shaya, to'zot._ – Greetings, uncle.**

**_Shiyau thol'es k'thorai ri k'ahm._ – Nobility lies in action, not in name.**

**_Sochya, ko-fu.Ki' odva. _– Peace, daughter. Have faith.**

**

* * *

Chapter Five: A Less than Ideal Homecoming**

Archer could hardly believe it. Unless his eyes were playing tricks on him, something was very wrong on Vulcan. He continued to stare at the view screen long after Soval had broken off contact, his eyes glued to the blank screen in front of him, as though hoping that it could offer some explanation as to what in the hell was going on with the High Command. He could understand all of their actions; it wasn't anything new that the Vulcans would want to send their own shuttle to retrieve T'Pol or refused _Enterprise's_ offer of assistance, but Soval hadn't been acting like his usual, pompous self. True, some headway had been made after the incident with the Xindi, but the ambassador had seemed very un-Vulcan. He wondered if anyone else had noticed.

He finally turned to face his senior staff and saw that they were all wearing perplexed expressions, no doubt just as confused as he was. However, there was only one of his officers to whom he directed his question when he asked, "What was that?"

T'Pol just looked at him. "I don't know what you mean."

She was lying. He could tell; T'Pol wasn't as good of a liar as she used to be. Archer turned to Trip. "Am I the only person who saw that?" he asked, using his arm to gesture towards the now blank view screen.

"Ambassador Cranky looked a little nervous there," said Trip, raising one eyebrow. He was smiling, but Archer could tell that he didn't mean it. He was simply trying to break the tension, and not doing a very good job at it. "You think he's hiding something?"

Kamea, half-hidden over by the turbo lift, snorted so suddenly that Archer nearly jumped. "Of course he's hiding something," she said, in a tone that suggested it should have been obvious to everyone; it was her usual tone.

"How do you know?" Archer asked, though he had a pretty good idea what the answer was going to be.

She narrowed her eyes. "He's Vulcan."

Archer chose not to comment. He was certain that Kamea had never met Soval, but he sensed that whatever animosity the girl was feeling was due to her father's relationship with the ambassador, whatever that may have been. He made a mental note to ask her about that sometime.

"That," T'Pol said, her voice unnaturally frosty, "is an unfair assessment."

Kamea shook her head. "Somehow, I don't think so." She wandered towards the center of the bridge but remained on the outside, bracing her hands on the railings on either side of her and leaning forward. "Something is going on – something other than what we've been told. And whatever is happening down there, the Vulcans don't want us to know about it."

Archer nodded in agreement; he'd been thinking the same thing. The Vulcans not telling them anything was nothing new, but somehow this seemed to be something more – something big. Archer had a sinking feeling that whatever was happening to the political structure on Vulcan could completely change the planet as he knew it; this upheaval could lead to a civil war, and how would a Vulcan civil war affect other worlds? The Vulcans were such a huge part of interstellar travel that a political restructuring could send a shockwave through the rest of the galaxy.

Where would Starfleet stand if the Vulcans did dissolve into civil war? Would they side with the High Command, with whom they dealt on a regular basis? And who exactly were these Syrannites who had seemingly suddenly risen to challenge the High Command's power? Would they interfere at all, or adopt a platform of non-involvement like the Vulcans had done so many times? Archer didn't like not knowing the answer, and the only person who could possibly give him information would just breathe the word "classified" and that would be the end of that.

His eyes drifted to Kamea as he realized that T'Pol was no longer the only person to whom he could turn if he had questions about Vulcans. Granted, Kamea hadn't grown up on Vulcan, but she was half-Vulcan and her father had to have taught her something.

"I know nothing," Kamea said before he even got the chance to ask her. She had been looking better of late, but at that moment, she seemed haggard and worn, like she'd been awake all night – which she probably had. Archer hadn't heard whether or not she was still plagued with insomnia; if it were a problem, Phlox would have told him. "I wish I could tell you something, Captain, but I can't."

Archer sighed, frustrated not with her but with the situation in general. However, he chose to take out his frustrations on her, as she had quickly proved to be an easy target. Also, it was fun to rile her up. "What good are you, then?"

She offered a shrug as her only response, which was very unlike her. He wondered if something was going on with her, too. He would make it a point to ask Malcolm about it later, since the two of them seemed to spend so much time together. Archer knew he should intervene – relationships on starships tended to muck up the works – but there was technically nothing going on between them, so there was technically nothing he could do about it. Until Malcolm and Kamea's relationship caused a problem, he had nothing to say on the subject.

Actually, he had plenty to say on the subject. He was just choosing not to at this point in time. But how sad was it that everyone on his ship seemed to have found someone but him?

He knew what he had to do, though he also knew it would accomplish nothing. He had to ask T'Pol what was going on. She had already told him about the Syrannites, despite the fact that the High Command forbid it. He knew that she'd had a communiqué from Vulcan prior to Admiral Forrest's announcement, so she had to have at least some clue of what was going on planetside. She was just choosing not to say anything.

There was a lot of that going on lately. Perhaps he should be worried.

He took a deep breath, steeled himself for rejection, and said, "T'Pol, is there anything we need to know?"

T'Pol folded her arms across her chest and stared determinedly in front of her, not meeting his eye, which answered his question better than any answer she could ever give him. "Ambassador Soval has informed you that _Enterprise's_ assistance won't be needed."

Archer cocked an eyebrow. Prevarication wasn't exactly uncommon from T'Pol, but he couldn't remember her being quite so vague before. At least her normal response of _"That information is classified,"_ was a clear dismissal. "Is that a 'no'?"

She continued to keep her eyes trained on the back of Hoshi's head. "Were _Enterprise_ involved with the conflict, there would be things that you would need to know, but as Ambassador Soval has refused your offer to help, there is nothing that you need to know. It is a problem for our people. You are not involved."

"We're involved," Trip said, his voice heavy with an emotion Archer recognized but didn't want to name. He didn't want to think about Trip and T'Pol as a couple; he never had. He was still uncomfortable with the whole concept, and the political ramifications of the two of them together would be more than he was willing to deal with at the moment.

Again, it seemed as though everyone on the ship had someone but him. He would really have to work on that. Later, though. He had more important things to worry about. Like the fact that his chief engineer looked as though he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

"If you're involved, we're involved," Trip said. Unless Archer was mistaken, there were tears in his eyes. "You think we're just gonna send you off to war without knowing what's going on?"

T'Pol stubbornly refused to look at any of them. Archer noticed that she didn't contradict Trip's claim that she was going off to war. "My welfare is no longer _Enterprise's_ concern, Commander. I have been recalled."

Trip looked as though he wanted to say more, but he kept his mouth shut, returning his attention to his station and furiously pounding the buttons before him. Archer wondered how much restraint Trip was exercising to keep from leaping over his console and taking T'Pol in his arms. If Archer knew Trip at all – which he liked to think he did but lately wasn't so sure – it was a lot.

"It's my concern," said Kamea after a silence. Her voice was so quiet that Archer almost hadn't heard her. She had never been one for outright displays of emotion where T'Pol was concerned, so Archer was surprised that she sounded genuinely concerned. T'Pol must have been shocked as well, because she actually turned in her seat to look at her cousin. "You're _pi-maat_. I have a right to know."

They stared at each other for a while – a sight quite unlike anything Archer had ever seen. He never thought he'd live to see two Vulcans get in a staring contest. Under different circumstances, he might have found it amusing. But when T'Pol still said nothing, Archer made a decision. He was going to get the truth one way or another, and he was going to get it from the people who owed him most – the High Command. Why should he wait around for the Vulcan shuttle when they had two perfectly good pods on board?

His mind made up, he turned to Trip. "Commander Tucker, ready Shuttle Pod Two."

It was impossible to tell which of his officers looked more surprised at that command. T'Pol's eyes were wider than Archer had ever seen them. Malcolm, Hoshi, and Travis all wore similar looks of stunned disbelief. Trip, however, actually looked pleased with the order.

"Captain?" Trip asked, his voice masking just a hint of uncertainly, as though he thought he had misheard.

Archer crossed his arms, sending Trip a look that could not be misconstrued. His chief engineer grinned and took off to do as the captain had instructed.

"One way or another," Archer said, turning back to the blank view screen, "we're going to get answers."

* * *

Kamea had been nervous before. Nerves were nothing new to her. Nervous she could handle. Her first day of high school after her classmates found out she was half-Vulcan, she was nervous. Her first day of classes at MIT, she was nervous. The first day she tried to pass as completely human, she was nervous. But this feeling growing inside of her stomach was something entirely different. It went way beyond nervous. She would have given her left arm for nervous. She was convinced that her stomach was eating itself – at least, that's what it felt like. She couldn't quite explain the way her insides were gurgling, threatening to explode, and she didn't entirely want to, so she put on the brave face she was so used to wearing and climbed on board the shuttle pod with everyone else, hoping that halfway there the captain changed his mind and turned it around.

What in the hell had the captain been thinking, inviting her to come along with them? He only wanted her there so that she could try and sense what was going on with the High Command – why they were lying to Starfleet about what was really going on. _Come on, Archer,_ she thought, _do you really need a telepath to tell you that?_ She didn't want to go to Vulcan. Why would she want to go to Vulcan? Why was she going to Vulcan? Why couldn't she jump off the shuttle pod now, before they left the ship and while she still had the chance?

But she lost her chance to escape as Travis guided the pod out of the docking bay and into open space. She was really going to have to work on her timing.

Malcolm sat next to her in the pod, a much different scenario from the last time the two of them had ridden down to a planet together – and she was hoping that their trip to the planet would turn out differently as well. She liked having the use of her arm back. But she was glad for Malcolm's presence. He was calming, soothing, and she was about three steps away from insanity, with or without him there. So it was a good thing he was there.

No doubt about it. She was definitely going crazy. It was her father. He was driving her crazy. She had to get him out of her head.

"Have you ever been to Vulcan?" she asked, hoping that her voice didn't sound as frantic as she imagined it did.

Malcolm nodded slowly, as though lost in thought. "Once, a long time ago, but all I got to see was the Earth embassy."

Kamea swallowed hard, fighting down the nerves as they threatened to crawl up her throat and into her head. "Is it nice?"

He smiled. "Not really. I think they were trying to discourage humans from visiting."

She gave him a half-hearted smile, recognizing his attempt to cheer her up. "Sounds about right."

The tension that permeated the ship had sneaked aboard the shuttle pod. Archer and Travis sat in the front, having a very loud discussion about water polo, which Kamea assumed was to cover up the rather stony silence emanating from the middle of the pod, where T'Pol and Trip sat side by side, very purposefully not speaking to each other. They were also very purposefully not touching each other and not looking at each other, seated several inches apart in similar postures – arms crossed, jaws clenched, eyes boring holes into the door.

Malcolm looked at her for a long moment, the kind of look that made her feel ridiculously flattered like some silly lovesick teenager, and she hadn't felt like that for a really long time. It made her feel like she wasn't some hybrid freak that would never belong anywhere; it made her feel like she could find a permanent place on _Enterprise_.

It scared the shit out of her.

She turned her face away to hide the fact that her cheeks had turned dark red and said, "Stop doing that."

Malcolm played dumb. He was quite good at it. "Doing what?"

She grunted. Her cheeks burned. Damn that man and his gorgeous blue eyes. It was unfair. Eyes like that should be illegal. "You know what. Stop it."

"Are you nervous about going to Vulcan?" His voice was soft and serious, and her heart melted instantly, as it was wont to do when he used that particular tone.

"Nervous?" she asked, and she couldn't help but notice that the word came out squeaky and uncertain. She cleared her throat, but it didn't help at all. "Of course not. Why should I be nervous about meeting the people who banished my father and denied all knowledge of my existence?"

Malcolm laughed softly and bit his bottom lip. She licked her lips unconsciously; he had no idea how irresistible he looked when he did that – or maybe he did and that was why he did it so often. "You sound bitter," he said.

"Bitter?" Kamea shifted her position, trying to move away from him and the warmth he was giving off, trying to free herself from the grip of that tide of emotions that threatened to engulf her every time she was near him. "Of course not. Bitter is an emotion. I'm Vulcan. We don't acknowledge emotion."

He sighed and loosely draped his arm around her shoulders. She stiffened automatically; he had never done anything like that before. True, they slept together every night, but they were alone. Never had he been so overt in public – although no one else in the pod was paying attention to the two of them. "They can't deny what's right in front of their face," he said.

She snorted without meaning to. "Sure they can. They're Vulcans. Denial is what they do best." She raised her voice. "Isn't that right, T'Pol?"

T'Pol exhaled loudly through her nose, but said nothing. She didn't even look at Kamea.

Kamea turned to Malcolm. "I'm feeling very loved right now. I'd hate to leave this little love bubble I've constructed for myself, so I think I should just stay here on the shuttle pod while the rest of you go off gallivanting on Vulcan."

Travis turned around in his seat to face them. "We'll be landing in a few minutes, so take all necessary precautions."

Kamea froze. They were landing already? How could they be landing already? Why did Travis have to be such a damn good pilot? No. No. No. No. No. She took a deep breath, then another one, and then another one, but it wasn't helping. She began to rock back and forth, slowly at first, then more rapidly, until Malcolm tightened his grip around her shoulders and stroked her upper arm.

"_E ana maika'i no 'oe_," he said in her ear. "_Mai ho'okaumaha_."

"Who said I was worried?" She tried very hard not to feel comfortable in Malcolm's embrace. "You're getting good at that. You should tackle Vulcan next."

By the time they landed, no one was talking. It was the second most uncomfortable trip in a shuttle pod Kamea had ever had, but she'd only had the two, so that wasn't saying much. Travis guided the shuttle pod to a soft landing; Kamea glanced outside and saw nothing but sand. Then she felt her throat constrict and it became difficult to breathe. She stumbled backwards back into her seat. Malcolm was at her side in seconds.

"Kamea? Are you all right?"

She shook her head, suddenly dizzy. It was weird – the sudden sensation of a lot more people than she was used to. She looked around the shuttle pod, but it was just the six of them, so whoever was intruding on her thought processes was coming from outside. She gestured at the window with her head. "They're pissed off," she said, looking pointedly at Archer.

He looked right back at her, and she knew immediately – he'd been hoping to piss them off. He wanted them to slip up and admit to what was going on, why they'd had to hightail it to Vulcan to bring back someone who was no longer a member of the High Command. It was futile; the Vulcans would never admit to anything.

There was a buzzing in the back of her brain, almost as if someone were trying to read her thoughts. She knew the Vulcans had limited telepathic abilities, but they were limited – no where near the kind of power they would have to possess to even brush the surface of her brain – so the buzzing had to be coming from somewhere else. And she knew from where it was coming, and the thought ate her up inside.

Her father's voice echoed in her ears, faint and faraway, but every word still came in loud and clear. _Dakh pthak. Nam-tor ri ret na'fan-kitok fa tu dakh pthak._

She was not afraid. She wasn't. For her to be afraid, it would have to mean that she actually cared what these people thought about her, and she didn't care. It didn't matter to her what they thought.

Oh, who was she kidding? Of course it mattered, otherwise her stomach wouldn't currently be eating itself.

A familiar blackness was creeping in front of her eyes – the blackness that usually signaled a total loss of control. Usually it was from anger, but this time it was fear, a fear so enormous that it was going to swallow her completely unless she did something about it. But what could she do? The blackness only served to frighten her all the more; her heart beat wildly in her chest, and panic started to overtake her.

"'_A'ole_," she said, groping blindly for the front of Malcolm's uniform. She grasped something – it was Malcolm, she could tell by the smell – and pulled him forward. "_E mai makemake hele._"

She felt him grip her by the shoulders and shake her, just a bit. "Kamea, _pono 'oe._"

There was a heavy silence in the shuttle pod – a silence of uncertainty. She could feel everyone's eyes on her without seeing them, and she could feel the confusion and the frustration they were feeling with very little effort. The uncomfortable silence was broken when Trip said, "Since when do you speak Hawaiian?"

Malcolm's voice almost disappeared as he turned to face the others. "Since Kamea doesn't speak English when she's delirious."

No one said anything, and in the silence Kamea felt Malcolm grab her legs and lift her from the floor and into his arms. She tried to protest – she may have gotten one or two good smacks in before her head began to throb and she went limp in his arms. She wasn't supposed to fight this, she knew that. But she planned on doing so. If she could find the strength to lift her head, she was fully prepared to bite people. She had sharp teeth.

Even with her eyes closed, she could tell when they stepped out of the shuttle pod. For one, she could identify the changes in light behind her eyelids. For another, the smell of the desert was unmistakable. Also, the difference in temperature was pretty obvious. The cool, climate-controlled atmosphere of the ship was replaced by blistering heat so suddenly that, had Kamea been standing, she would have been knocked over. Malcolm, for one, staggered almost as soon as the two of them walked out of the pod.

She tried to turn her head in the direction from which she knew they were coming, but she couldn't. It didn't matter. They would be here soon enough.

Malcolm tightened his arms around her, and she was overwhelmed by a sudden surge of anger – more intense than anything she had ever felt, and Kamea had felt a lot of intense anger, lots of times. But never anything like this. It was almost as if the person in question was bottling up his anger, letting it simmer below the surface where it would fester and grow and explode.

"What is the meaning of this?" said a voice that Kamea did not recognize. But the flat, emotionless tone could only mean that the Vulcans had confronted them, as she had expected. Archer had probably expected it, too. "What are you doing here?"

Her tongue was thick and fuzzy, but she managed to say, "I told you they were pissed off."

"Captain Archer, we told you that we would send a shuttle for T'Pol," said another voice, a voice that Kamea had heard before, but only in her dreams – a voice she had learned to loathe with every fiber of her being.

Her eyes snapped open. Whatever lead weight had been holding her down lifted instantaneously. Her head was no longer throbbing, her tongue was no longer heavy. She tried to sit up in Malcolm's arms; he was so startled that he dropped her, but she landed nimbly on her feet and stood to face the Vulcans.

There were a dozen of them. They all looked the same – like her father. Dark skin, dark eyes, dark hair. Everything about them was dark. They were all dressed the same, wearing robes that gave Kamea the impression they were heading off to the Jedi Council meeting. They all had the same haircut. Their faces were blank, their eyes were cold, their anger was palpable. There was condescension in their nonexistent tone and fear in their empty eyes.

They were walking contradictions, these people who touted their logical society yet acted in a completely illogical fashion. These people who had ruined her father's life, banished him from his home, barred him from even communication with his friends and relatives. Her father had accepted their decision with dignity, and they had treated him like lower than scum. They had ruined her own life – denied her the one thing in the world she had wanted above everything else, besides a normal life, which was unfeasible. They refused to acknowledge her, even when they knew she might be in danger. They were arrogant, self-serving bastards who were so pretentious it made Kamea sick, walking around like they were so much better than everybody else.

And there he was, in the center. Soval. He looked just as distinguished as ever, with his salt-and-pepper hair and crow's feet around his eyes. His face was familiar, not because she knew him as the Vulcan ambassador to Earth, but because he had a lot of her father's facial features. If she squinted, she could almost pretend that he was her father.

She stood as tall as she could. "_Na'shaya, toz'ot._"

Words could not describe the dirty looks all of the Vulcans gave her. It was weird – a dirty look without a look. She could tell what they were thinking even though it wasn't obvious in their facial expressions. Her eyes flicked back and forth between them, studying their reactions. She felt about two inches tall.

Soval was thunderstruck. "I beg your pardon?"

He and the tall, really angry-looking Vulcan took a step forward, and Kamea reacted automatically. She flinched, took a step back towards Malcolm, and put up a barrier – practically without even realizing that she was doing so. Soval and the angry-looking Vulcan slammed into the barrier.

Trip screwed up his face in confusion and turned to Malcolm. "What did she say?"

Malcolm shrugged. "How the bloody hell should I know?"

T'Pol stared at Kamea with slightly widened eyes. "How could you possibly know?"

Kamea kept her eyes on Soval, who was pressing against the invisible barrier with more than a passing interest. The first signs of recognition were beginning to appear in his dark eyes. "_Fal-tor-plak_," she said.

Now the Vulcans gave her looks of mistrust, of suspicion. She knew she was suggesting a radical idea, something that none of the Vulcans standing before her would ever condescend to admit to. But there was no other explanation, no possible explanation for what was happening to her – the voices in her head, the dreams she kept having, and her nightmares, among other things.

T'Pol shook her head firmly. "That's not possible. A _katra_ is not something that can just be passed from one Vulcan to the next."

"It is possible," said Kamea. She still wouldn't look at T'Pol. She knew what her cousin would say and she really wasn't in the mood to hear it at the moment. Idle skepticism was one thing, but T'Pol's mind was about as closed as anything, which was odd, considering everything. "It is completely possible. If you could just open your mind one fraction of an inch, you might realize that." She finally turned to look at her cousin. She had never felt more frustrated than she did right then.

Okay. So that wasn't entirely true. But they didn't have to know that. Kamea said, "I thought that you, of all people – "

"T'Pol is right," Soval said. "It is not physically possible to transfer a _katra_ from one Vulcan to another."

Kamea lowered the barrier and walked toward the Vulcans as calmly as she could. She stopped directly in front of Soval, as close as she dared get to him. "You told Starfleet to reject my application."

His face was impassive, but his eyes betrayed him. "You assume much."

Kamea laughed – a great loud barking laugh that erupted from her mouth almost without her control. "'Assume' nothing. My father confronted you, and you didn't deny it. You went to the admiralty and – "

"Do you mean to tell me," one of the Vulcans in the back said, "that you believe you are Vulcan?"

_Duh._ She bit her tongue to keep from saying it, instead tucking her hair behind her ears – a characteristic that not even the Vulcans could deny.

"What you are suggesting," the angry-looking Vulcan said, "is impossible. Vulcans and humans have never reproduced. You are not Vulcan."

Not this again. Her entire life, she had to deal with this – with disbelief, with suspicion, with doubt. She was used to it. But she was tired of it. "_Shiyau thol'es k'thorai ri k'ahm._"

"Do not presume that merely quoting Surak will convince us that you are who you claim to be," said the angry-looking Vulcan. "You have no scientific proof to substantiate your claim."

Archer cleared his throat, and all eyes turned to him – save for Kamea's, who could not take her eyes off of Soval. "She doesn't. We do."

The angry-looking Vulcan scoffed. "Preposterous. No Vulcan/human…coupling…has ever produced offspring."

Kamea hated the way he spat out the word "coupling" as though the very notion were an insult. She started forward, pulling her arm back, but Malcolm appeared from out of nowhere to restrain her in the nick of time. He held her wrist firmly and pulled her back against him. "You don't want to do that," he said in her ear.

Her upper lip curled in a snarl. She was so upset that she didn't even bother to notice how close Malcolm was. "Oh, I so do."

V'Las ignored her, marching over to Archer and getting as close to being in his face as a Vulcan would allow. "Captain Archer, this is most unacceptable. You were asked to remain on your ship."

Kamea broke free of Malcolm's hold with very little effort, though she took great care not to do him physical injury. She couldn't believe that she was being brushed off like that. She had been anticipating this meeting – this "homecoming" of sorts – for more than half a century, and it didn't seem as important to them as it did to her. How could they ignore something that was right in front of their faces? Yes, they were Vulcans, but they weren't blind. What did they think had happened, she had gotten her head stuck in a rice picker as a child?

"Actually," Archer said, "Soval told us that it wouldn't be safe for us down here. He never said we couldn't come."

She had told Malcolm that they wouldn't accept her, but she had secretly been hoping that they would. After all, she wasn't some object they could just dismiss because they didn't want to believe it. She was flesh and blood, a living, breathing human being. She had feelings and emotions and the fact that the Vulcans were just completely ignoring her was really starting to piss her off. If there was anything she hated, it was being ignored.

"We came to offer our assistance," said Archer. "It's the least we can do."

Just who did they think they were? They weren't the chosen people of the universe.

"We don't require your assistance," V'Las said. "You landed without permission. According to Vulcan protocol, we could have your entire crew arrested for violation of our treaty."

"You can't arrest us," said Trip. "You didn't tell us we couldn't come, you just suggested we don't."

"This is ridiculous," said V'Las. He turned to another one of the Vulcans. "Tavok, arrest the humans."

Tavok was shorter than the rest of them, and though Vulcans didn't show their age in the same way that humans did, Kamea could tell that he was younger than the others. He waved his arm, and a group of Vulcans that Kamea had not noticed before surrounded Malcolm, Archer, Trip and Travis. One came at her, but she dropped into her ready stance. She was more than willing to fight to the death.

"Just try it," she said.

"Kamea," said T'Pol, who was now standing next to Soval. "Do not attempt to fight back."

Kamea glared at her cousin. "It is not in my nature to go quietly."

T'Pol sighed inaudibly. "Perhaps, just this once, you should go against your nature."

It was too horrible to even think about – the idea of simply stepping back and allowing the Vulcans to arrest her and the rest of the _Enterprise_ crew. Kamea hated to think of what would happen to her in a Vulcan prison, though she had no idea what a Vulcan prison was like. She hadn't even known that Vulcans had prisons. They probably didn't; they'd just be put in some holding cell, but still, she loathed to think of what they would do to her.

_Sochya, ko-fu_. _Ki' odva._

She sighed and relaxed, letting the Vulcan take her in to custody. He bound her wrists in irons, which she tested out of habit. They were weak, and could easily give if she applied enough strength – obviously designed to restrain humans and not Vulcans. As their Vulcan escort led her and the others away, she turned to look at Soval and V'Las. She prodded into their consciousness, just a little, to see if she could tell what they were thinking – but their brains were muddled, a mass of confusion, and Kamea could not tell one thought from the next.

One thing, at least, was for certain – this had not been the homecoming she'd anticipated.


	6. The Third Degree

**A/N: Imagine that the later conversation between V'Las and Soval is in Vulcan. I'm too lazy to try and translate the entire thing.**

**Vulcan words and definitions courtesy of the Vulcan Language Dictionary, as always.**

**_sehlat_ – a large bear-like animal with six-inch fangs, often a pet**

**_ta'a_ – traditional Vulcan salute**

**T'Khasi – another name for the planet Vulcan **

**It was my intention to make this chapter longer. I had something in mind, actually, but I wanted to give you guys an update. My schedule next week is insane, and I don't know when I'll have time to write again. So, rather than leave you hanging (like before), I thought I'd post what I had written. Enjoy!**

**Reviews, as always, are appreciated.**

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Chapter Six: The Third Degree**

Kamea paced back and forth, full of so much restless energy that if she didn't do something she was going to explode. The Vulcans had locked her in an empty room that was so white it hurt her eyes, and she was alone. She could sense the others somewhere nearby, but she had no way of pinpointing their exact location without knowing the layout of the building that she was in, which of course she didn't. She'd been flanked by six Vulcans on her way inside, so she hadn't been able to see on either side of her; she was half surprised she hadn't been blindfolded. They'd separated her from the others almost immediately upon entering, and she was starting to get nervous. What if they were going to do something to her?

She could very easily have broken out. In fact, she had considered it multiple times, but she ultimately decided against it. She didn't care what these Vulcans thought about her, but the last thing she wanted to do was confirm whatever suspicions they had about her. She would hear that condescending tone in Soval's voice no matter what she did or said – she didn't want it to be deserved.

The only window in the cell was small and up near the ceiling, so she couldn't even look out the window to distract herself. She hadn't seen that much of Vulcan, except out the windows of the shuttle pod on the way down to the planet. Not that she really wanted to see the planet, although it would have been nice to see her father's ancestral home. She'd never been to Vulcan before, she wasn't sure she would ever make it back, so this really was her only opportunity, and here she was, locked in a cell somewhere in the High Command's headquarters.

Eventually, she got tired of pacing. It was accomplishing nothing except making her tired and thirsty, and as she glanced at the guards standing just beyond the confines of her cell, she was fairly certain that they wouldn't exactly run off to get her a soda. She retreated into one of the corners and hunkered down, crossing her legs into the traditional meditative posture. She had nothing better to do, so she might as well try meditation. She rested her hands on her knees and tried to clear her mind of conscious thought, which, given that she had so much on her mind, was pretty difficult. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, just as T'Pol had instructed, imagining a candle flickering silently in her mind.

The flame in her mind extinguished. She heard footsteps approaching, and her ears perked automatically. She got to her feet and wandered closer to the door of her cell. There was a tiny, barred window in the door, to which Kamea pressed her face, straining to see with the limited view the window offered.

Soval's face appeared on the other side of the window so abruptly that Kamea stumbled backwards. The lock on the door clicked and the door opened. Soval and that other Vulcan, V'Las, stepped into her cell. The guards remained on the outside and shut the door after Soval and V'Las.

She backed away another few steps, eyeing them suspiciously, trying to read the looks in their eyes. They were trying to hide their feelings, but she could tell anyway. They didn't like her. Not that she had given them any reason to, nor did she expect them to, but it would have been nice to be given the benefit of the doubt.

V'Las spoke first. "Why do you lie?"

Kamea's nostrils flared automatically. Of all the things she hated being called, liar was at the top of the list – just under half-breed. And freak. Besides, she was sick and tired of the third degree. She choked down her anger and said, "Because I'm Vulcan. It's in our nature."

"You are not Vulcan," said V'Las with barely disguised fury. It was radiating off him in waves. "Why do you continue to insist on something that is impossible?"

"There's no such thing as impossible," Kamea said. "An impossible situation is merely an opportunity to be creative." Her father was fond of spouting off that little piece of wisdom. She half expected it to be one of Surak's sayings. It certainly sounded like one. She raised her eyebrows at the two of them. "Vulcans are supposed to be logical. Where is the logic in denying what is right in front of your face?"

V'Las shook his head. "You have offered up no proof to substantiate your claim."

Kamea grunted. No proof? What the hell? She was walking, talking proof, if they would only open their narrow little minds. No wonder her father hadn't even thought twice about leaving this place far behind. "Phlox has all the proof you may need on board _Enterprise_, but I'm guessing you wouldn't believe anything he told you." She tugged on the tip of her ear. "Look at these. What further proof do you want?"

Soval sighed imperceptibly. "Many surgeons on Earth have the ability to reconstruct ears."

"Oh, good show, old bean," Kamea said, effecting a British accent. "That's exactly what happened. I willingly ostracized myself from human society on the off chance that I would be accepted by the Vulcans. Right."

"There is no need for sarcasm," said V'Las. He sounded bitter.

Kamea almost smiled, but she didn't have the energy. "There's always a need for sarcasm."

"Had there been a Vulcan/human hybrid born, we would have known about it," V'Las said. Kamea scrunched up her face as she scrutinized him. Had there ever been a more pompous-looking person? She didn't think so. "Such an…achievement, you realize, would not have gone unnoticed by the Science Directorate."

"You knew," Kamea said. "You had to know. It's not like my father was quiet about me. He sent communiqués to everyone. You either didn't believe him or didn't want to believe him. Either way, denial isn't just a river in Egypt."

V'Las gritted his teeth so hard that Kamea could hear it on the other side of the room. "Such an amazing scientific accomplishment would have been difficult to keep quiet. How is it that no Earth newspapers published any articles about your birth? Why is it that you lived in relative obscurity?"

Kamea licked her lips. "My father didn't think that human society was ready to accept me. He and my mother decided that they would raise me as human. Until my senior year of high school, no one suspected that I wasn't."

Soval crossed his arms behind his back. "Tell me about something about your father – something very few people would know."

"Why?" Kamea asked, genuinely confused. "You knew him."

Soval held up one hand in a gesture of concession. "Humor me."

_Now that's funny,_ Kamea thought._ A Vulcan with a sense of humor. _She exhaled through pursed lips, trying to think of something she could tell them about her father that wasn't common knowledge. But her father had spent more than half of his life out of contact with his family, so anything she might know about Lorian, the other Vulcans wouldn't. So she struggled to think of something that had happened when he was a child, but her father hadn't exactly shared all that much with her about his life on Vulcan.

_I need to tell them something. They don't believe me._

Someone started to whisper in her ear. She gave herself three guesses to figure out whom, and the first two didn't count. But for once he wasn't reprimanding her or spouting off useless words of wisdom; he was trying to help her.

"The scar on the back of his hand," she said, once the whispering had retreated into the back of her brain, "is from when he was attacked by your pet _sehlat_."

Soval stared at her, momentarily speechless. It wasn't apparent on his face, but she could tell by the look in his eyes. She continued. "You were trying to teach it a trick, because the kid down the street taught his _sehlat_ to sit, and Lorian was teasing it when your back was turned. It bit him. He had that scar for the rest of his life."

Had V'Las been human, he probably would have scoffed. As such, the only indication that he was disgusted was the contempt in his voice. "If that is the only proof you have to offer, then we are finished here."

Kamea growled, low in her throat. "I told you. Phlox has all the medical evidence on _Enterprise_ – "

"We would, of course, want to have our own doctors and scientists examine you," said V'Las. Kamea fought down a surge of panic, though she should have expected that. She didn't want to be examined by their doctors. Phlox was one thing, but no more doctors. She hated doctors. "While your Doctor Phlox is Denobulan, he is under the employ of Captain Archer."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Kamea asked, pumping anger into her voice to mask the fear. _No doctors. No doctors._ "You think the captain conceived this all as some elaborate ploy to piss you off? Because it seems to me, he's quite capable of doing that without resorting to such tactics."

V'Las and Soval exchanged a look, and Kamea didn't like the looks of the look. If they didn't leave her cell in the next minute, she was likely to rip their heads off. It was well within her ability. She clenched her fists so tightly that her nails dug into her palms. They must have sensed that she was struggling to restrain herself, because they quickly took their leave without so much as a proper goodbye.

The door slammed shut behind them and Kamea threw herself at it, desperate to claw her way out of the cell. She didn't like doctors. No more doctors. Malcolm had promised her that he wouldn't let the doctors examine her. She didn't want the doctors to touch her. No doctors. Doctors were bad. Doctors did things and…

Suddenly, breaking out seemed to be the most viable option. She whirled around to face the window, got a running start, and leapt up. She was too short; her fingers didn't quite reach the bottom of the sill, even after jumping. She tried again, and her fingertips caught the edge, but she couldn't hold on and fell back to the floor. Clearly, the window was not the best way to go. The only other way out was the door.

She gripped the bars firmly with both hands and yanked with all her might. They bent with a series of creaks and groans, but before she could regroup for another attempt, the guards were at the door. They of course had no weapons, as Vulcans were no longer a violent people, but they clearly meant to do something to restrain her, because the one was fumbling at his belt for the keys to her cell.

One of the guards tried to squeeze his arm through the bars. She bit him on the hand and tightened her grip on the bars. She pulled them back again, and one of them gave. She nearly wrenched her arm out the socket, but the bar was lying there on her palm. She looked at the guards through the window and felt a smile creep across her face.

Now, she had a weapon.

* * *

Kamea's screams could be heard down the hallway. Soval and V'Las flattened themselves against the wall to avoid being run over by the mass of guards on their way to subdue her. Soval suspected that their efforts would be futile. If Lorian had been telling the truth about his daughter, Kamea was more than capable of taking care of herself. Soval had actually been expecting her to attack himself and V'Las, but she seemed to have learned restraint, which was good. Though he could tell she had severely wished to cause them bodily harm, she had refrained. That alone spoke volumes about her character.

V'Las cocked an eyebrow at him. "Ambassador," he said, "you have been quieter than usual. Is something troubling you?"

Soval did not respond to V'Las's question. It was, to use an Earth term, loaded. V'Las would not hesitate to use Soval's weaknesses against him, and compassion for the girl would be seen as a weakness by the majority of the High Command. Soval's position as ambassador to Earth had been in jeopardy ever since V'Las had learned about his conversation with Archer after the Xindi ordeal. V'Las had been looking for reasons to remove Soval from his post.

"Administrator," Soval said slowly, choosing his words carefully, "why do we continue to deny the existence of a Vulcan/human hybrid? I understand that it is the High Command's position, but continuing to do so is illogical. Lorian was successful. We must admit that."

"I have seen no proof," said V'Las, matter-of-factly. The last of the guards rushed down the hallway. Kamea's screams subsided; they must have sedated her. The two resumed walking. "We have no reason to believe that she is who she claims to be."

Soval bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from letting out an exasperated breath. Sometimes V'Las's attitude towards change greatly upset him. Soval was under the impression that not all change was detrimental. If not for Surak and his efforts, the Vulcan race would still be the violent, irrational people they had been two millennia ago. V'Las considered a Vulcan/human hybrid to be disadvantageous to the stability of their society. He believed that various traditions would be destroyed if Vulcans were given the opportunity to wed and mate outside the species, that the Vulcan people would somehow be contaminated. Soval, however, knew that such an offspring was inevitable, that as human society and culture evolved, they would become more agreeable to the Vulcans. He had been on Earth a long time, and he had seen how they had changed. Whereas only several centuries ago, a mixed race marriage was seen as unclean, now they were commonplace. It was only a matter of time before interspecies marriages became the norm.

"Other than the striking resemblance she bears to her mother," Soval said.

He had only met his sister-in-law once, when Lorian had brought her to Vulcan in the hopes of obtaining the High Command's permission to marry. For a human, she was remarkably elegant, well spoken, logical, and intelligent. Soval considered her to be a worthy companion for his brother, and had she been Vulcan, he would have had no reason to object to their union. His only complaint against her was that she was not Vulcan.

V'Las dismissed that notion with a wave of his hand. "All that serves to prove is that she is Kalea's daughter. Even that is questionable. I, for one, failed to notice the resemblance."

Soval shook his head. Actually, Soval thought she looked more like her father, save for the blonde hair, which was most assuredly her mother's. Also, V'Las had never met Kalea. "And the eyes?"

Lorian had been something of an anomaly among the Vulcan people due to the color of his eyes. All Vulcans had the same basic physical characteristics, because of the climate of T'Khasi – the same dark skin, the same dark hair and eyes. Lorian, however, was one of those rare few Vulcans born with a genetic irregularity. He had blue eyes. None of the doctors to whom their parents had taken him were ever able to explain from where Lorian's blue eyes had come. Their feeble explanation was that it was a fluke, a glitch in the Vulcan genetic code that manifested itself once every few generations. Soval wasn't sure whether or not to believe that, but as he had discovered no other explanation, he eventually accepted it.

V'Las's shoulders twitched, as though he were about to shrug. "As is my understanding, blue eyes are a fairly common physical trait on Earth. Why, both _Enterprise's_ chief engineer and armory officer have blue eyes."

"And the ears, sir?"

V'Las stopped walking abruptly and turned to face Soval. "As you so eloquently pointed out, Ambassador, human plastic surgeons can do wonders." He cocked an eyebrow, as if daring Soval to respond, and when he didn't, the two resumed walking. "Now, the girl will obviously have to stay here to be examined. Captain Archer will, no doubt, want one of his crew to remain in order to make certain that she is not being mistreated. He doesn't trust us, you know."

Soval raised his eyebrows. "I was aware of that, yes."

"T'Pol must be given an assignment as soon as possible, preferably one that does not allow for outside communication. The rest of _Enterprise's_ crew will return to their ship at once. We will bury this before it has the chance to go any further."

"V'Las," Soval said, his teeth clenched, "if the High Command learns that we were aware of this and concealed it – "

"They would understand why we did so, Soval. We cannot, under any circumstances, allow this information to reach the High Command. Once our doctors examine her, they will determine that she is not who she claims to be."

Soval dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. The entire situation was becoming more and more frustrating. First the Syrannites had revolted, retreating into the Fire Plains and coordinating attacks on vital government buildings. Then T'Les had vanished; Soval didn't know whether the Syrannites had taken her or she had willingly gone off with them. Now _Enterprise_ had arrived and had no intention of leaving. Captain Archer was as stubborn as any Vulcan, and he would not leave quietly.

"Even if our doctors are able to prove that she is not half-Vulcan," Soval said, "Phlox still has all of his notes from his examinations. The entire crew of _Enterprise_ believes that she is who she says she is. T'Pol would verify her claim."

V'Las tapped his chin. "Then we will simply have to dispose of his research."

Soval tried not to be too surprised. "How do you propose we do that?"

"We will need to send some to _Enterprise_ to guarantee that the good doctor's research is properly destroyed. We could inform Captain Archer the presence of one of our people is to ensure that _Enterprise_ does not interfere with our political problems."

"Captain Archer will not allow it."

V'Las almost smiled. "We will offer him no alternative. He will be forced to accept our terms, and you will accompany the humans back to their ship."

Soval clasped his hands behind his back. He did not want to by the High Command's spy on _Enterprise_. He wanted to make sure that his niece would be treated well; he wanted the opportunity to get to know her, because he was fairly certain she would never return to T'Khasi after the reception she'd received. "Administrator, I would prefer to oversee the examination."

"I know you would, Ambassador, which is why you are going to _Enterprise_. You have already developed a rapport with them. They would feel more comfortable with you than with any other member of the High Command."

Soval had known V'Las long enough to know when he was lying. He clearly had other reasons for wanting Soval to accompany Captain Archer and his crew back to _Enterprise_. Soval suspected it had something to do with V'Las wanting him removed from his ambassadorial position, but he could not think of an exact reason. He also did not think that was true, that the _Enterprise_ crew would be more comfortable with him on board. They would resent the presence of any member of the High Command, whether they knew said member or not. But as V'Las was his superior, there was very little he could say that would change the administrator's mind.

"And the girl? She will not remain quiet for long. Eventually, _Enterprise_ will return to Earth."

"She spent most of her life masquerading as human. No one will believe her if she claims to be half-Vulcan now."

Unfortunately, though Soval was loath to admit it, V'Las had a point. Kamea had spent so long lying about her heritage that no one would believe her when she told the truth. However, it was not as simple as that. It never was. Kamea was not the only one who knew that she was a hybrid. The entire crew of _Enterprise_ knew what she was, and if she were to be mistreated – by anyone, Soval suspected – they would rally to her defense. V'Las, though Vulcan, did not have a very firm grasp of loyalty.

"Live long and prosper," Soval said, giving the _ta'a_.

V'Las returned the salute. "Peace and long life."


	7. Just Not Enough

**A/N: As always, many apologies for the amount of time that has passed between updates. I left you hanging, which I swore last time I wouldn't do, and I really tried not to. But it seems as though the muse has decided to take a vacation.**

**Firebirdgirl – Good suggestion. I'll go find a cactus.

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**Chapter Seven: Just Not Enough**

It was official. Trip hated Vulcan. It was definitely the worst planet he had ever visited. Worse than that Trellium mine. Worse than the planet with the shapeshifter. Worse… Well, he couldn't really think of another example, but it was bad. He'd been to this planet all of twice and he couldn't think of anything more horrible. There was no worse experience in all of existence than watching the woman you love marry someone else, or having to stand idly by and let her go forever to stay with said someone else. Now he was going to have watch her march off into war following some warped concept of duty. And to add insult to injury, he and the others had been unceremoniously arrested for violating a nonexistent order.

He sighed. Why did he keep leaving _Enterprise_? Bad things happened when he left the ship. From now on, he was locking himself in his quarters.

Well, he'd let himself out to work on the engines, but that was it. Nothing else.

Oh, and meals.

Except, meals he could eat in his quarters, so there you go. Problem solved.

"How long do they intend to keep us here?" Malcolm asked from the other side of the room.

Trip rolled his eyes. Malcolm was really grating on his last nerve. Trip had no way of knowing just how long they'd been in here, but Malcolm had done nothing but complain the entire time. It was really irritating. "Got somewhere more important you need to be, Mal?"

Malcolm leveled a glare in his direction but said nothing, and Trip resisted the sudden urge to smirk. He knew where Malcolm needed to be – with Kamea. The smirk died on his lips. He was starting to get worried, too. None of them knew exactly what had happened to the girl; the Vulcans had separated them from her upon entering the building. They'd dragged Kamea off down one corridor and led Trip, Malcolm, Archer, and Travis down another, to what Trip presumed was some sort of conference room. It was all white, with a long, oval table in the middle and half a dozen fairly uncomfortable chairs. Apparently, Vulcans didn't believe in comfort in addition to emotion, time travel, and relationships with humans. The room offered a spectacular view of Shi'Kahr, Vulcan's capital city – not that Trip cared. Although he could see a large garden or park of some sort, which he grudgingly admitted was pretty cool. He hadn't really gotten to do all that much sight-seeing the last time he'd been here. Trip leaned further out the window, trying to see better.

Vulcan really was a beautiful planet. Too bad Trip hated it more than anything in the universe.

He wondered if he could see the Fire Plains from this building.

"They're definitely hiding something," said Archer. He was pacing restlessly back and forth and had been doing so ever since they'd been brought into the room. Trip had to stop watching him after a while – it was making him dizzy. He'd also kept repeating that same phrase over and over; the words had last all meaning.

Had everyone gone insane?

"Probably," said Trip. When were the Vulcans not hiding something? He hoisted himself onto the windowsill, braced both hands on either side of the window frame, and leaned as far out the window as he could without jumping.

He saw a bunch of buildings and that garden. No Fire Plains. Bummer.

Travis leapt up from his spot at the table and ran over to Trip. "Commander!" he said. He grabbed the back of Trip's uniform and yanked him back inside. "What are you doing?"

Trip offered a weak shrug and brushed off his uniform. "It's a nice view," he said, in an attempt to be casual, like he was always leaning so far out windows that one slip and he was a stain on the pavement. Travis didn't seem to buy it, though.

"What do you think they're hiding?" Archer asked, obviously having taken no notice of the fact that his chief engineer had almost jumped out the window.

Malcolm grunted. "I'm guessing it has something to do with the Syrannites." He said it with such contempt that Archer came out of his vacant stupor, and he, Trip, and Travis all turned to stare at the lieutenant. It took him a few minutes, but when Malcolm realized they were all looking at him, he coughed and said, "Sir."

Archer walked over to the table and leaned on it, bracing both his palms flat on the surface. "Something on your mind, Lieutenant?"

Trip had never in his entire life heard a rank sound so much like an insult – not even when T'Pol and Kamea attempted to use "Commander" as an insult could they ever make it sound so menacing. Trip pursed his lips and sucked in a sharp breath. Malcolm was not the type to talk back to his superior officers, so Trip knew he must be under a lot of stress; he could imagine that Kamea was pretty demanding on Malcolm's time and energy, but he never thought he would act like this. He just didn't seem to have it in him.

For a moment, Malcolm looked as though he was going to tell the captain exactly what was on his mind, but he must have chickened out at the last second (or his innate Malcolm-ness had kicked in at last), because he shook his head. "No, sir."

Trip loudly cleared his throat. Everyone was tense and had been for a while. The Vulcans locking them in this tiny room was only serving to bring that tension to the surface. If he didn't say something soon… He didn't want to even think about what might happen. "Okay," he said, and the others turned to look at him, "so, what do we know about the Syrannites?"

"Not much," said Archer. He sat down at the table. He seemed to forget all about Malcolm for the time being, and Trip breathed a sigh of relief. _Mission accomplished._ "T'Pol said something about a different interpretation of Surak's teachings."

"That's it?" asked Travis. He took the seat across from Archer. "Seems like a lot of fuss over something so simple."

"You're forgetting, Travis," Malcolm said, and he also sat down, "that wars have been fought over less. Religious warfare is nothing new to humanoid society. Earth has undergone several religious wars – the Crusades being the most famous. People will do almost anything in God's name, believing that they are defending their religious ideals."

"But these aren't people we're talking about, Malcolm," said Trip. "They're Vulcans. They all look the same. They all think the same."

"Surely you don't think that, Commander," Malcolm said. "What about T'Pol? And Kamea?"

Trip snorted in response, but said nothing. He knew it was incredibly specist of him to lump all Vulcans together as though they all acted like they were connected by the same brain. He hated the way that Vulcans made vague generalizations about the human race, and now he was doing the same thing. Of course, he had every reason to be bitter and cynical, and if he had to piss off an entire planet in order to be bitter and cynical, then so be it, damnit, because it was his right.

"At any rate," Malcolm said, eyeing Trip with an appraising look, "I imagine it's much the same with Vulcans. They're so adamant in what they believe that anyone who challenges or opposes that belief in some way must be dealt with. Look at what happened to Kamea's father."

A lump formed in Trip's throat. _Or T'Pol._ _She was forced into a loveless marriage because her unorthodox actions threatened her mother's position. What kind of horrible society forces people into an unwanted relationship like that?_

He rolled his eyes. _This one._

"Do you really think Surak advocated that kind of behavior?" asked Travis. "I thought he was all about peace and tolerance."

"There's a difference between tolerance and acceptance," Malcolm said. "You can be tolerant of something without having to like it.."

"Did any of Surak's writings survive the Reformation?" Archer asked.

Trip forced a laugh. "I think you're asking the wrong crowd, Captain. We've got to find Soval and V'Las and make them talk to us."

Someone behind him cleared his throat. They all turned. It was Soval.

"Highly unlikely," Soval said. "We're taught to resist torture, Commander Tucker. And I strongly suspect that anything you might attempt in order to 'me me talk' would be nothing short of torture."

Trip cocked an eyebrow. Had Ambassador Cranky just made a joke? He looked at Archer, who was staring at Soval with an amused look.

It was official. Everyone had gone insane.

"Where's Kamea?" Malcolm asked, his voice so tense it sounded as though it might break. He was gripping the edge of the table so hard that his knuckles almost matched the color of the walls.

Soval's face bore no expression, not that Trip expected it to, when he answered. "She is well taken care of."

Malcolm almost growled. "That's not what I asked."

Soval cocked an eyebrow, an expression that Trip liked to call 'the Vulcan'. "I assure you, Lieutenant, that she is quite safe. She is being attended to by our physicians."

Malcolm's eyes narrowed. "Physicians? Why? What happened?"

Trip could have sworn that Soval sighed. "She became hostile. We were forced to sedate her."

"I'm sure it was nothing you did, though," said Archer. "Right, Ambassador?"

Soval folded his arms behind his back. "She has a lot of aggression, and perhaps rightly so, but we could not have her becoming violent. If what her father told me about her is true, we would be ill-equipped to deal with her if she became violent." Malcolm opened his mouth to respond, but Soval continued before he could get the chance. He turned to Archer. "Now, Captain, about your unauthorized – "

"We have a right to know what's going on," said Archer.

Soval just stared at him. "No, Captain. You don't.."

Trip felt his blood boiling. He took a deep breath and a step forward, intent on giving Soval a piece of his mind, but Travis reached out and grabbed his arm. Trip turned to shoot the boomer a dirty look, but there was no real malice behind it. Deep down – very deep down – he knew that nothing would be accomplished by yelling at the ambassador.

"T'Pol is a member of my crew," Archer said. "If a member of my crew is involved, I'm involved. If T'Pol is going to be risking her life for this, I want to know what she's risking her life for."

This time, Soval did sigh. "I'm sorry, Captain. That information is classified."

Archer rolled his eyes. "Of course it is."

Silence descended. Trip couldn't tell who looked angrier – himself, Malcolm, or the captain. Trip could only speak for himself, but he knew that if he opened his mouth to ask Soval anything, the only thing that would come out would be a string of curse words that would make a sailor blush and his mother reach for the soap. He couldn't remember having ever been so angry.

Not true. He'd been pretty pissed off when T'Pol told him she was marrying Koss. But this was a close second.

It was Travis, strangely enough, who broke the silence. "Isn't there anything you can tell us, sir?"

Soval looked at Travis with one eyebrow raised. Then he walked over to the still open door, peered out into the – presumably – empty hallway, and shut the door. He marched back over to the table and beckoned them closer.

"How much has T'Pol told you?"

Trip almost had a stroke. Was Soval actually going to tell them something other than, "That information is classified"?

Archer shrugged. "Not much," he said, looking suspicious. Trip could hardly blame him. Soval had never exactly been all about the free exchange of information before. "There have been a few uprisings, and these Syrannites have a radical interpretation of Surak's teachings."

Soval nodded slightly. "I thought as much. V'Las has been telling the people that the Syrannites follow a corrupted form of Surak's teachings."

Trip could tell, from the tone of Soval's voice, that he didn't entirely agree with V'Las's point of view. "But you don't think that."

"It isn't important what I think," said Soval. "The High Command must present a united front, otherwise our entire government structure will crumble. Nothing would be accomplished if there were discord and petty squabbles among the members of the High Command." After a pause, he continued. "But yes, I don't believe that V'Las is being entirely truthful about the Syrannites. I do not believe that their ideas are corrupt, simply misguided. They advocate many practices that traditional Vulcan society considers taboo."

_Must be horrible,_ Trip thought, _for it not to matter what you think. For all the Vulcans preach tolerance and objectiveness, they certainly don't practice it._

"Such as?" Archer asked.

"Mind-melds," he said. He said it so quietly that Trip wasn't sure if he'd heard him correctly. He glanced around (probably paranoid that one of his cohorts had heard him with their supersonic hearing). "Vulcans value their privacy, as you know. Mind-melds violate that. It is not a practice we encourage."

"But all Vulcans are capable of performing mind-melds," said Malcolm. Everyone turned to look at him. "It isn't just the Minority that can do so, correct? They simply choose to."

Soval furrowed his brow. "Where, Lieutenant, did you hear that?"

Malcolm coughed, clearly uncomfortable. "Kamea."

Soval exhaled through pursed lips and rubbed his forehead with one hand. "Of course. She would know about the Syrannites."

Archer looked confused. "Why would you say that?"

"Her father was a Syrannite."

Trip was dumbfounded. He was sure he must have looked like an idiot, standing there with his mouth open, but he really couldn't think of anything intelligent to say in response to that. He had been trying for days to get Kamea to tell him something about what was going on, and she kept insisting that she had no idea, when really she did. Her father was a Syrannite? She would know all about them. She should have marched into Archer's office the minute they found out about this political uprising and told them everything they needed to know.

"Lorian was a Syrannite?" Malcolm asked.

Soval gave them the Vulcan look. "Is that really so hard to believe, Lieutenant? Consider his unorthodox behavior. He shunned his betrothed, abandoned his life as a member of the High Command, wed a human, settled on Earth, and conceived a hybrid child. Then he convinced his child to masquerade as human, thereby completely disregarding half of her heritage."

Malcolm shook his head, his eyes burning. "You have no idea what it was like for her, growing up half-Vulcan."

Soval shook his head. "Do you?"

"I know more about her than you do. You spoke to her for all of five minutes. She's been on _Enterprise_ for six months."

Trip had to bite his tongue to keep from mentioning that, as she had been spending every night of the past few months in Malcolm's room, he would know her better than anyone alive. Somehow, he didn't think that would help matters any.

He couldn't help but grin. Still fun to tease him, though. He made a mental note to do just that, as soon as Soval left.

But still, Trip couldn't help but be suspicious as to why Soval was suddenly Mr. Informative. Soval had never so much as given them the answer to a riddle, and now he was spilling High Command secrets left and right – telling them about the Syrannites and that he didn't agree with the High Command's position. If Trip hadn't thought the ambassador was acting out of character before, this clinched it.

"Why are you telling us this?" he asked.

Soval averted his eyes, and alarms went off in Trip's head. _Danger! Danger, Will Robinson!_ "I thought, perhaps, if I answered some of your questions, it might make you more amenable to what I have to say."

_I knew it!_ Trip thought. Though what he knew, he couldn't say.

"Captain Archer," said Soval, "you and your crew are to return to _Enterprise_ at once, with me as your escort."

"What about Kamea?" Malcolm asked.

Soval turned to look at him. "She is to remain here in order to be examined. Administrator V'Las is not entirely convinced that she is telling the truth. He wishes for her to be examined by Vulcan physicians. He will only believe their results."

Archer said, "If you think I'm leaving her here – "

Soval held up his hand. "V'Las has consented to allow one of your crew to stay and oversee the tests." He cocked an eyebrow. "He's under the impression, Captain, that you don't entirely trust us."

Archer looked at Trip. Trip nodded at Malcolm. If anyone was going to stay with Kamea, it should be the guy who knew her best. Also, if Malcolm really could speak Hawaiian (and when the hell had he learned to do that? It wasn't exactly like Hawaiian was a common language), it would come in handy, since Kamea had a tendency to speak in her native tongue at the most inopportune times.

"Captain, sir," said Malcolm, "if it's all right, I'd like to stay here with Kamea."

Archer nodded slowly. "I figured you would, Malcolm."

Trip couldn't take his eyes off Soval. The Vulcan was hiding something – not that that was some almighty revelation. He was always hiding something; he was Vulcan, after all. But Kamea having to remain on Vulcan couldn't be what Soval was worried about telling them. Trip had expected that the Vulcans would want to examine her themselves – far be it for them to believe some illogical old humans, even though they had more than enough medical evidence to prove that she was who she said she was.

"So we just go back to _Enterprise_ and y'all will leave us alone?" Trip asked. Somehow, it didn't seem like something the Vulcans would do.

"When I said that I was your escort," said Soval, "I meant that I am to ask as your chaperone. V'Las wants to ensure that you don't attempt to interfere with our…problem. He has asked me to return to _Enterprise_ with you."

Trip snorted before he could stop himself. "We don't need a damn babysitter."

Soval took a step towards him, and Trip automatically took a step back. Pompous and arrogant as he was, Soval was still a pretty intimidating person. "I assure you, Commander Tucker, that I have no desire to 'babysit' you. I requested to remain here and oversee the examination, but V'Las insisted that I return to your ship with you. He seemed to think that it was in everyone's best interests."

Archer let out a great barking laugh. "The only interests that concern V'Las are his own."

The light must have been playing tricks on Trip's eyes, because it looked like Soval was amused. "Be that as it may, Captain, it does not change what I have told you." He turned to Malcolm. "Lieutenant Reed, I will escort you to the room where Kamea is being kept." He looked at Archer. "Then, Captain, I will return and take you to your shuttle craft."

Soval and Malcolm left.

Trip shook his head. "I don't like it, Captain. Something fishy is going on here."

Archer nodded. "I know. But it looks like we don't have much of a choice. At least with Soval on board, we can keep an eye on him."

* * *

The farther into the compound Soval led him, the more anxious Malcolm became. The building hadn't looked this big from the outside, but Malcolm could tell that they were several levels underground. He got the feeling that the High Command conducted a lot of experiments here – experiments that weren't meant to be public knowledge, and so were performed far away from prying eyes. If he was getting the chills, he hated to think what Kamea was going through.

He suspected that her distaste for doctors stemmed from her ordeal with the Andorians. She claimed that she had no memory of what they had done to her, but he didn't believe her. He was fairly certain that she remembered exactly what they did to her and just chose not to talk about it. Every time he saw that long, ropy scar on her back he felt a sudden surge of anger directed towards the bastards who had done that to her. If she hadn't killed them, he most certainly would have.

Soval stopped abruptly and turned to face him, and for a minute Malcolm feared the Vulcan had read his mind, until he said, "Why did you volunteer to remain?"

Malcolm was pretty sure that Soval knew exactly why he volunteered to stay, but Malcolm opted not to delve into that messy situation, especially with the ambassador. "Kamea has a tendency to slip into her native language. I'm the only crewmember who can speak it." He narrowed his eyes. "It seemed like the logical conclusion."

"Ah," said Soval, but he didn't sound convinced.

They resumed walking, and several minutes passed before Soval spoke again. "She is a very attractive girl."

_God,_ Malcolm thought, _if only you knew. If you knew just how soft her skin was, or how silky her hair was, or how good she feels pressed up against you in the middle of the night…_ Malcolm shivered just thinking about it. Soval gave him an odd look, and Malcolm struggled to think of something to say. "I didn't think Vulcans cared about appearances."

Soval raised an eyebrow, but he seemed impressed by Malcolm's cheek. "This may surprise you, Lieutenant Reed, but Vulcans do appreciate beauty."

Malcolm smiled in spite of himself. "I should say so. I've seen pictures of Kamea's mother."

It almost looked like Soval was smiling. "Kalea was a remarkable woman."

This time it was Malcolm who suddenly stopped walking. He was trying to remember if Kamea had ever told him her mother's name, had ever mentioned it all, and how Soval could possibly know it. "Have you met Kamea's mother?"

Soval nodded sadly. "Once. Lorian brought her to Vulcan."

Malcolm's chest constricted. Kamea never talked about her mother. He couldn't imagine what it must have been like for her, to be forced to watch her mother being killed, but he sensed that it was difficult for her to talk about, and so he never broached the subject, even though he was dying to know. "What was she like?"

"I believe Lorian used to call her a 'firecracker'," Soval said, with just a hint of amusement in his tone. "She was not afraid to speak her mind. When she heard of the High Command's ultimatum, I am fairly certain she suggested just exactly where we could put it. She was remarkably intelligent – a highly gifted engineer. It was a shame that she was expelled from Starfleet. She was well-read and eloquent. She had an opinion about everything. I recall that she and Lorian once had an argument about Surak's teachings. Lorian was constantly quoting _The Teachings of Surak_." They began walking again, and Soval's tone became sad. "She had a kind heart, and she loved my brother very much."

Malcolm stopped in his tracks. Had he heard the ambassador correctly? No, he couldn't have. "Lorian was your brother?"

Soval stared at him. "You didn't know?"

"No," Malcolm said, shaking his head. "Kamea never mentioned it. She doesn't like to talk about her father much." It was on the tip of his tongue to tell Soval about the nightmares, but he didn't. It wasn't his place to tell. Although it explained a few things – like why Soval had asked to observe the examination (and probably why he wasn't allowed). Also, it put Kamea's claim that he had gone to the admiralty and asked that she be denied acceptance into Starfleet into some perspective. "So that would make Kamea…"

"My niece. Surely you knew that simple familial relationship, Lieutenant."

Malcolm clenched his jaw. It was as if the ambassador knew just what to say to irk him. "I did."

"Oh, good. For a minute, I was going to question Earth's education system."

Choosing to ignore that comment, Malcolm instead said, "How long will these exams take?"

Soval shook his head. "Difficult to say."

_Not good enough_. "I promised her I wouldn't let any doctors touch her." _I knew I never should have made that ridiculous promise._

Soval narrowed his eyes, something Malcolm could honestly say he'd never seen the ambassador do. It was one of the most piercing stares Malcolm had ever seen, with the exception of all of the looks that Kamea gave him. Must have been a Vulcan thing. "Why did you volunteer to remain?"

It took Malcolm a moment to realize that Soval was actually questioning his intentions toward Kamea. He laughed without meaning to – he was nervous and uneasy in the presence of the Vulcan, and the question caught him off guard. Soval glowered even harder, and Malcolm cleared his throat. He shifted his weight from one foot to the next, growing increasingly uncomfortable. He couldn't tell Soval the real reason behind his decision – it was something he couldn't even tell Kamea – but he had to tell him something. The ambassador looked pissed.

He sighed heavily, as though he was revealing the location of the Holy Grail. "She saved my life. I feel as though I owe her."

Soval continued to stare at him. He raised an eyebrow. "Just because I do not express emotion, Lieutenant, does not mean that I cannot recognize it."

Malcolm gulped. What the hell did he mean by that? Oh, he did not like where this conversation was going.

"You are in love with her."

Malcolm scoffed loudly, because it was expected of him. "That's ridiculous," he said, but he was really thinking, _How in the hell did he know? Nobody knows. Hell, I'm not even sure I know that._

"Her native language," Soval said, his voice clipped and curt, "is Hawaiian. I know this, because Lorian used to write me how much he despised when she spoke it, because he could never grasp the language. Hawaiian, I also know, is not a common Earth language. In fact, it is only spoken on the island chain. Therefore, you must have learned to speak Hawaiian after having met Kamea. To invest that much time and effort into learning a language that so few people speak can only mean that you have feelings for her."

Malcolm could only stare stupidly at the Vulcan. If that was his reasoning, then he had figured it out from the beginning and had known all along. Malcolm felt his face burn with humiliation and knew he must be some vibrant shade of red. It was embarrassing, knowing that Soval was aware of his feelings for Kamea. "Someone had to learn it," he said, aware that the excuse was paltry at best.

Soval almost rolled his eyes. "I believe that one of the finest linguists on Earth is a member of your crew."

He was referring, of course, to Hoshi. But Hoshi wasn't there in the middle of the night, Malcolm was. But he couldn't tell that to Soval. The Vulcan already looked like he wanted to throttle him; it would only make things ten times worse if he admitted to the ambassador that he was sleeping with his niece every night.

"Look," Malcolm said, marching off down the hallway, "it isn't important. We weren't about to leave Kamea down here by herself, so someone had to stay, and I volunteered. It doesn't matter why."

The hallway was endless. It stretched on for miles, completely lined with doors. There were a thousand places to hide, a thousand places in which to get lost. The Vulcans could probably navigate the corridors with ease; Malcolm would have thought that the building was constructed this way to intimidate visitors, but he got the sense that very few visitors had ever stood where he was currently standing. Under different circumstances, the thought that he was in a place where very few people had been would fill him with a great sense of pride, but not now. Now he could only think about Kamea and what they may have been doing to her.

Good Lord. Where in the hell did they take her? A guy could die trying to find his way out of this place. Maybe that's the bloody point.

"Very well, Lieutenant," said Soval. "I suppose, in the grand scheme of things, it isn't important. However, I feel it only logical to warn you that, should your intentions be anything less than honorable, it would be only too easy for you to become hopelessly lost in the Fire Plains."

Malcolm swallowed hard and eyed the ambassador. He didn't think he was joking. He certainly didn't look like he was joking.

He's got a lot of nerve. Completely ignores Kamea for the first half of her life and then all of a sudden becomes the over-protective uncle? Who does he think he is? He doesn't know anything about Kamea. He doesn't know what's best for her. He doesn't know anything. Ruddy bastard.

Soval finally stopped in front of a white door with a single window. How he had possibly recognized that it was this particular door for which they were looking, Malcolm would never know. It looked the same as all the others they had passed. Maybe he'd been counting. Soval knocked sharply on the glass, and the door opened. Malcolm followed him inside the cavernous white room. The ceiling stretched high above them in a dome, and the room was filled with all sorts of medical equipment. Phlox would probably squeal with delight upon seeing some of the instruments. Malcolm didn't recognize the majority of them. He reached out to touch one, only to have a Vulcan dressed in what looked like a biohazard suit smack his hand away.

"How is she?" Soval asked one of the Vulcans. The room was filled with them – the physicians, Malcolm suspected – all of them wearing the same biohazard-like suits.

His anger flared. Kamea wasn't radioactive; they needn't bother with the suits.

The Vulcan shook his head. "We won't know until she wakes. T'Mun fears we may have used too high of a dosage."

Malcolm followed the sound of the voices into a little room off the side of the dome, the only contents of which was a small brass bed. Kamea was strapped to the bed, unconscious, and dressed in a long white gown. Malcolm's heart broke at the sight of her.

She was going to be so pissed off when she woke up.

He edged closer to the bed – as close as he dared, in the presence of all the Vulcans – and reached for her hand. As he closed his fingers around hers, he distinctly heard several sharp intakes of breath and turned to find the Vulcans all staring at him with barely disguised shock.

Malcolm turned back to Kamea. She would love knowing that he had managed to shock a whole flock of Vulcans. She'd probably be upset that she'd missed it.

* * *

_She would have to have been blind not to know where she was._

_Everything was the same. The walls were still that pale, seafoam green. She lightly ran her hands along them, savoring the feel – mostly smooth, save for the random spots where the paint was cracking. The hardwood floors were still cold beneath her feet as she slowly walked into the living room. A fire crackled in the fireplace – purely for show, of course, since it was most likely eighty degrees outside. The coffee table was stacked with all sorts of science magazines and technical manuals. But what held Kamea most entranced was the couch. Beige – difficult to conceal stains, and it had only taken her once or twice to learn not to eat on it – and quite possibly the most comfortable couch in the universe, that couch was as much a part of her life as the wilting lei that hung on the back of her desk chair. She took a running leap onto the couch and buried her face in the pillow that was propped against the arm._

_The whole room smelled like sandalwood – potpourri, strategically placed all over the room. It reminded her of her father._

_Kamea thought her heart might burst from pure joy. Home. She was home._

_God, she hadn't been home forever. It felt so good she thought she might cry. She was home. Home – that most fabulous of all the four letter words. This was where she had grown up. This was where she had spent the vast majority of her childhood, where she had watched television with her friends, where she had assembled engines from scratch with her mother, where her father had told her about the operation. This was where she'd had her first kiss, after freshman formal while her parents were outside on the terrace. This was where she had learned to walk, talk, recalibrate plasma conduits. A burning in her eyes signaled that she was very close to crying, and she was half tempted to race upstairs and see if her bedroom still looked the same._

_She rolled over to look out the window, where the familiar sight of the ocean met her eyes. She could practically smell the salt air; she could almost feel the sand squishing between her toes. How long had it been since she'd seen the cove? Too long. What she wouldn't give for her surfboard. It had been years since she'd caught a decent wave._

_"Is she going to be all right?"_

_Kamea's heart leapt into her throat. Her mother. She hauled herself up and peered over the back of the couch. There she was. Her mother. Those same kind eyes, that same warm smile, that same ratty old bathrobe she always wore in the morning. Her long blonde hair – the only physical attribute Kamea had inherited from her mother – was pulled into a messy ponytail. Her legs were curled up underneath her; her fingers played with the edge of the tablecloth. Kamea's eyes stung with tears. God, how she'd missed her._

_Both of her parents sat around the kitchen table – a beautiful old oak table that had once belonged to Kamea's grandparents; her mother wore that ratty old bathrobe, and her father was completely dressed in slacks and an Oxford shirt – polar opposites, but somehow made for each other. They were eating some kind of mushy breakfast – probably one of her father's experiments in cooking, Kamea couldn't tell what it was supposed to be. Both of them looked exhausted._

_"She's going to be fine," Lorian said, and he reached across the table for Kalea's mug of coffee. "It's just a cold. Some antibiotics, fluids, and a lot of rest, and she'll be fine."_

_They were talking about her. She could tell. She was too young to remember this, but her mother used to talk about this one time when she was a baby and she caught the flu. Her mother had been terrified that she was going to die; she stayed up all night every night with her, in case something were to happen._

_Kalea dropped her face into her hands, but she peered at Lorian through the gaps in her fingers. "I didn't realize this was going to be so hard." It took Kamea a moment to realize that by "this", her mother meant parenting. Kamea struggled to remember the details of the story and realized that she couldn't have been more than a year old at the time. "She's so fragile."_

_Lorian smiled softly and gently pried Kalea's hands from her face. "Kamea may be a lot of things, but fragile is not one of them." He kissed Kalea's knuckles. "She takes after you in that respect."_

_Kamea choked back tears. Kalea laughed and cupped Lorian's chin. "Ah, but she has your eyes."_

_"She does, doesn't she?" Lorian said, the ghost of a smile playing at his lips. He sounded almost pleased. A lump formed in Kamea's throat._

_Kalea laughed again and threw her napkin at him. They resumed eating. Well, only Lorian was eating. Kalea appeared to be pushing the mush around with her spoon. Apparently, she already had enough experience with Lorian's cooking to know not to eat anything he made. After a silence, Kalea glanced up from her meal. "Have you heard anything from Soval?"_

_Kamea growled low in her throat, and for a moment she was convinced her parents had heard. Soval. How dare they mention that man's name in her presence? Although, she wasn't technically present, but still. If she never heard that name again, she would do her excited happy dance._

_Lorian shook his head. "He isn't going to respond."_

_"But he's your brother."_

_"It doesn't matter. He won't respond. It doesn't matter that the universe's first Vulcan/human hybrid is his niece. He isn't going to want to see her."_

_Kalea sighed and shook her head. "Lorian, your brother may be a member of the High Command, but he is still your brother. He'll want to see Kamea."_

_"He's only going to be on Earth for a few days. He's meeting with Starfleet personnel to discuss the new warp project." He took a sip of Kalea's coffee and used the mug to gesture at her. "Which, by the way, you should be a part of. He probably won't have time to visit."_

_Something fishy was going on; Kamea could tell. There was something odd in her father's tone that meant he wasn't being entirely truthful. Kalea obviously noticed it, too, because she narrowed her eyes. "Lorian."_

_Her mother had a knack for being able to draw out answers using only one word. Kamea and Lorian had often fallen victim to that particular tone in Kalea's voice. This time was no exception._

_Lorian sighed and sat back in his chair. He picked up the napkin Kalea had thrown at him and started absentmindedly shredding it. "He doesn't believe me."_

_Kamea couldn't tell whether she or her mother was angrier by that statement, but she would wager money on her mother. Kamea already knew that Soval didn't believe her, but at this point in time, it probably would have been news to Kalea. But still, to know that her father knew that no one would believe her was not entirely comforting. She had hoped that the Vulcans, with their freakish obsession with logic, would be able to accept what was right in front of their faces._

_But no. They were stubborn jackasses. And now she had to pay for it._

_"What do you mean, he doesn't believe you?" Kalea asked. "He doesn't believe you have a daughter? How could he not believe you? Didn't you send him pictures?"_

_Lorian averted his eyes, becoming suddenly interested in whatever food compound was on his plate. "Photos can be doctored."_

_Kalea slammed her palms on the table. Kamea jumped. Lorian's eyes twitched. "Did he say that to you?" Kamea could not ever remember having heard such malice in her mother's voice. It was frightening._

_"He doesn't have to say that. I know how he thinks."_

_Kalea abruptly stood, knocking her chair over in the process. "How can you be so calm?"_

_Lorian looked at her, one eyebrow raised. "I'm Vulcan."_

_Her mother rolled her eyes. "Well, stop it." She sighed exasperatedly, righted her chair, and sat down once more. "I don't want Kamea to go through what we went though with the High Command. I don't want her to suffer like we do."_

_"Neither do I. And she won't. By the time we introduce her to the High Command, they'll be more accepting of us and our marriage."_

_Kalea just looked at him. "As long as we're dreaming, I've always wanted a pony."_

_Kamea could have watched them eat breakfast for hours; if she could have had her way, that's exactly what she would have done. It had been so long since she'd seen them like this – so happy, so in love, even though her father's emotions weren't apparent. This was her life the way she remembered it, until she left the sanctity of her home and gone out into the world, which sucked beyond all compare._

_But the moment couldn't last, and Kamea knew that. As she stared at her mother, remembering the lilac smell of her shampoo, the picture began to dissolve before her eyes. Soon, everything was fading into darkness._

_"_Makua hine_!" Kamea said. She tried to scramble over the back of the couch and found that she was unable to move. "_Makua hine Mai ha'alele ia'u_!" She stretched out her arm, but she knew she wouldn't be able to reach her. And her mother was disappearing._

_"Kamea?"_

_The voice penetrated through the blackness, vaguely familiar, but she ignored it. All she wanted was her mother._

_"_Makua hine 'Olu'olu Mai hele_!" She couldn't move. She couldn't breathe. And her mother was gone._

"Kamea!"

Kamea jerked awake so violently that the straps restraining her dug into her flesh, drawing blood. She struggled to sit and only then did she notice that she was strapped to the bed. She looked wildly around, unable to remember where she was or what she was doing here. Where was she? She didn't recognize this place at all; she didn't recognize any of the faces that were staring at her. And then a familiar scent hit her nostrils.

Malcolm.

And there he was; those gorgeous blue eyes gazing down at her with a look of concern. He was holding her hand tightly in his own, and with his other hand, he began to softly stroke her forehead.

"'_Oia a'e lā nō_, Kamea," he said. "_Au ma'ane'i_."

But for the first time in a long time, Malcolm just wasn't enough.

**

* * *

A/N: _Makua hine_ – mother  
****_Mai ha'alele ia'u_ – Don't leave me.  
**_'_**_Olu'olu_ – please  
****_Mai hele_ – Don't go.  
**_'_**_Oia a'e lā nō_ – It's all right.  
****_Au ma'ane'i_ – I'm here.**

**Happy New Year! Have a fun and safe New Year's Eve.**


	8. By Way of Andoria

**A/N: I AM SO SORRY. Really. Words cannot adequately convey just how sorry I am, to leave all you loyal readers without an update for almost five months. But, wouldn't you know it, I had computer problems. My brand new laptop had a defective hard drive and had to be sent away for servicing for more than two months. Stupid Gateway. And once I got it back, it seemed as though the muse had taken a permanent vacation. But I'm back now, and hopefully the muse is back as well, so please enjoy this long overdue update.**

**I know the phrase is "add insult to injury", but it worked better the other way.**

**Next chapter will be told largely from T'Pol's POV, since we haven't seen much of her this story.**

**_Makua hine_: mother**

**_Ko-fu_: daughter (I found no translation for the word "niece")**

**_To-zot_: uncle**

**As always, I owe the Vulcan Language Dictionary a big thank you.**

**

* * *

Chapter Eight: By Way of Andoria**

The smell of sandalwood was rapidly fading as Kamea took in her surroundings. It took her a moment to remember that she was on Vulcan – that she had tried to attack Soval and V'Las with a pipe. The guards must have sedated her and brought her here, though where "here" was, she couldn't say. It was an empty room, filled only with people, who were all walking around dressed as though they were about to test the atomic bomb. As she struggled to sit, she discovered that she was strapped to the bed – yet another thing that she had grown tired of, along with losing consciousness and waking up in strange surroundings.

Tears sprung to her eyes unbidden. She tried her best to blink them away. She refused to show weakness in front of the Vulcans… But it had been so long since she'd seen her mother's face, heard her mother's voice. To be so inundated with memories only to have them ripped away just as quickly, it was almost too much for her already fragile sanity.

It had all seemed so real, like she was there, sitting at the table with her parents, eating whatever concoction her father dared to call food. If she were honest with herself, a part of her wanted to lose consciousness again just so she could have another dream.

_Makua hine,_ she thought, _how I've missed you._

Beside her, standing so close to the bed he may as well have been a part of the frame, Malcolm was gripping her fingers tightly. That small gesture must have been the reason for the massive condescension and disapproval she was feeling. Although it may not have been the only reason. His touch was reassuring, as it always was, but it only served to push those precious memories of her mother further from her mind. It had been so long – too long. Kamea had almost forgotten what her mother's voice sounded like.

Kamea's eyes burned with unshed tears as she turned to face Malcolm. She effected the general mask of indifference that seemed to work so well and forced herself to look him in the eye, though she was certain he would see the tears. "The restraints were your idea, I gather?"

Malcolm smiled nervously, and his laugh was even more so. He seemed apprehensive in the presence of so many Vulcans. Kamea could hardly blame him, though she wished he could put a clamp on those negative feelings while holding her hand. His anxiety was coursing through her, and it was doing nothing to assuage her own anxiousness. "I was rather hoping you'd notice."

"I notice everything." She glanced around. Malcolm was a different story. He obviously had not realized how very close she was to crying. "Was the audience your idea as well?"

The answer to that question came not from Malcolm, but from Soval, who stood off to the side, away not only from the two of them but from the other Vulcans as well. "The audience," Soval said, "was V'Las's idea."

She should have known. The administrator didn't believe her – he'd said so himself; to tell the truth, she hadn't expected him to. She kept telling herself that it was illogical to deny what was staring him in the face, but she couldn't be sure how she would have reacted, were she V'Las. _And thank Surak that I'm not,_ she thought bitterly. He'd informed her, none too kindly, that he was going to have Vulcan doctors examine her, but did they really need so many? Wasn't one or two enough? She felt like the only fish in a giant aquarium.

To add injury to insult, she couldn't prop herself up on her elbows, and her shoulders were beginning to burn from struggling to hold that semi-upright position for so long. She glanced at Soval, positive that the restraints had been his idea. "Are these really necessary?"

Soval merely stared at her, not that she expected any kind of reaction. "Are you intending to become violent again?"

She attempted a shrug, which did not go over well. "I make no guarantees." She never intended on becoming violent; it just had a tendency to happen. Vulcans may have been able to control and suppress their emotions, but Kamea's human half made such self-control nearly impossible.

"Then yes, they are a necessity."

Kamea resisted the urge to roll her eyes, though she failed to stifle a sigh. She refused to be treated like some wild animal they'd just pulled off the streets. The restraints would have to go. She tried to move her arms, testing the strength of the material the straps were made of. They seemed to be built to contain humans, but then, she wasn't entirely human, was she? Amazing, that even after they'd seen what she'd done to the bars on her cell door they would underestimate her so. She lay down on the bed, took a deep breath, and surged forward with as much strength as she could summon. The straps slowed her, but only momentarily, tearing at the middle and freeing her upper body in seconds. Unfortunately, they also cut her arms fairly badly.

Malcolm leaned over to examine the cuts while the Vulcans conversed among themselves. Kamea would have said that they were talking excitedly, but excitement was an emotion, so that was a lie. She assumed that they were discussing her rather impressive (if she did say so herself) display of strength. They obviously hadn't been expecting it, and she knew that this would not bode well for her. If they couldn't physically restrain her, they would need to search for other methods with which to keep her under control.

Malcolm sighed heavily and gazed up at her, his blue eyes full of concern. "Can't you go one day without doing yourself bodily harm?"

She smirked. "Where's the fun in that?" She winced as his finger came into contact with one of the scratches. Then he ran the pad of his finger lightly over the scratch, and she experienced a different reaction entirely, which she managed to do a good job of hiding.

"Those don't look good," said Malcolm. He wiped her blood on his pants.

"They're fabulous," Kamea said. They hurt like hell. She set about undoing the restraints around her legs. Her movements squeezed more blood from the cuts. "Leave them. They're battle scars."

The Vulcans were still talking to each other in hushed tones, and did not appear to notice that she was injured, so Malcolm wandered over to the nearest tray of medical supplies and began rifling through them. She swung her legs around so that they dangled over the side of the bed. He returned a few moments later with a bottle of antiseptic and a clean rag. He obviously intended to disinfect her wounds. She could feel herself starting to smile and bit her lip to keep from doing so. What had she done to deserve such a protector? He applied a hefty amount of antiseptic to the rag and dabbed it gently against one of the cuts on her upper arm.

It stung. Apparently Vulcans had a ridiculously high pain threshold, because this was just about the most uncomfortable thing a human being could experience, with the exception of childbirth. She'd endured more than her fair share of pain throughout her life, but this was just cruel. She hissed in a sharp breath as Malcolm moved to a different cut. "That stings."

The corners of Malcolm's lips tugged upwards in the trace hint of a smile. "Oh, don't be such a baby."

Kamea felt herself smiling, recognizing that Malcolm was practically throwing her words back in her face. This smile she allowed. "I wasn't being a baby," she said, trying to ignore just how close Malcolm was to her. "I was merely saying that that stings. It's a statement of fact."

Malcolm said nothing at this, just shook his head. He leaned forward farther and lightly blew on the cuts to which he already applied the antiseptic. Kamea shivered as his breath danced across her skin, feeling the familiar waves of arousal begin to take hold of her. Goddamn that man. He certainly knew how to get her juices flowing, though she sensed that this was unintentional. The knowledge that he could do this to her without meaning to was refreshing – and slightly disturbing. She rooted herself in place and said, "Please don't do that." She said it a little more curtly than she intended to.

"Sorry," Malcolm said, sounding a little insulted. He resumed disinfecting her wounds – not quite as gently as before. "Does that hurt?"

"No," Kamea said truthfully. It was quite the opposite, actually. But she would never admit that to him. At least, not in the presence of close to a dozen very disapproving Vulcans.

Kamea had a feeling that Malcolm could not have suppressed the smile that threatened to split his face in two if his life depended on it. "Duly noted," he said.

She cocked an eyebrow at his unusual response, but before she could say anything, the Vulcans' conversation abruptly ended and they wandered back towards her bed. Malcolm did not seem to notice and continued his ministrations. Only when Soval loudly cleared his throat did Malcolm even look up to acknowledge his presence.

"When you're finished, Lieutenant," said Soval.

Malcolm raised his eyebrows but otherwise ignored the ambassador completely. He turned instead to Kamea. "That one on your forearm looks pretty deep. I'll get you a bandage."

Soval, surprisingly, gripped Malcolm's shoulder to prevent him from leaving. He released it quickly and proceeded to ignore the lieutenant. "That was an impressive display of strength," the ambassador said.

Kamea nodded. "Glad you enjoyed the show. I aim to please."

"_I aim to please"? What the hell?_ It was official. She'd gone insane. It was inevitable, really, after everything she had been through.

"Indeed," Soval said. "Am I to assume that attempting to physically restrain you would be fruitless?"

She shrugged with one shoulder. "Not unless you got something stronger than those straps."

Soval cocked an eyebrow. "Am I also to assume that you would find staying here unacceptable?"

Kamea narrowed her eyes. Just where was he going with this? She considered her response carefully; she didn't know what game Soval was playing, but she would not fall victim to it. Vulcans were masterful manipulators. She glanced around, taking in the room. It was cold and uninviting, much as she imagined most buildings on Vulcan were. She would prefer to be in the sanctity of her quarters – or, more accurately, Malcolm's quarters – back on _Enterprise_. But she knew that was not going to happen anytime soon. "That would be correct."

"Would you prefer taking up residence in a more secluded area, somewhere the doctors could attend to you without arousing suspicion from the public?"

Still unsure what Soval was trying to do, Kamea said, "It makes no difference to me, but I suspect the administrator would prefer I be kept away from the public." She nodded towards the ceiling, indicating the floors above their present location. "I expect he'd like it best if I were locked in one of those holding cells for the duration of your 'tests'." She used air quotes to emphasize how ridiculous she found this whole situation. "Did you have a particular place in mind, Ambassador?"

Soval took a step closer to her. "I'm sure you have been made aware that T'Les has gone missing?"

Kamea hung her head but did her best to maintain eye contact. Of all the things happening on Vulcan, the disappearance of her aunt had her most worried – not for T'Les, but for T'Pol. She knew that T'Les would not simply have vanished without sending word to her daughter; Kamea suspected foul play, but she could do nothing to prove it – not under the current circumstances. "I had heard that, yes."

"Then you are also aware that her domicile is currently vacant."

Everything clicked suddenly into place. Kamea kept her voice and face neutral, lest she alert the other Vulcans as to what Soval was doing. "I am."

"Perhaps," Soval said, raising his eyebrows, as though to indicate to her that what he was about to say was extremely important, "you would feel more comfortable staying there."

Kamea nodded thoughtfully. _I would feel more comfortable on _Enterprise, she thought, _but I know that hell will freeze over before that happens_. "A familial residence would be most appreciated," she said. She used her head to gesture towards Malcolm. "May I say goodbye before you transport me?"

Her stomach clenched painfully. She did not like this, not at all. Being forced into examinations with a dozen different Vulcan doctors who didn't believe she was who she said she was, and to top it off, she wouldn't even have the benefit of having Malcolm there to help her sleep at night. She would be awake for the next three weeks, or however long it took for the doctors to do their work.

"Lieutenant Reed," Soval said, "has elected to stay with you and…keep you company during the examinations."

There was no way V'Las would allow this. Kamea was sure the administrator intended to discredit Phlox's findings; how could he do so with Malcolm keeping such a close watch on her? He would surely never want to be out of her presence for extended periods of time, and it would be extremely difficult to tamper with the doctors' findings with an audience. "And how does the administrator feel about this?"

Soval averted his eyes, and Kamea was immediately on guard. Vulcans never averted their eyes. It was prevarication; most Vulcans got directly to the point, had their answers ready. "He insisted on it."

_Danger! Danger, Will Robinson!_

"He did?" Kamea found that hard to believe. V'Las was up to something; he had to be. There could be no other explanation for his sudden willingness to adhere to Captain Archer's demands, because Kamea was positive the captain would not have allowed Kamea to remain planetside alone. However, Kamea could help but be pleased that Malcolm would be staying with her. She had no idea how she would have gotten on without him. "How accommodating of him."

Soval cleared his throat. "Shall we go?"

Kamea cocked an eyebrow. Something was rotten in the state of Vulcan, and she was determined to find out what, even if she died in the process.

"By all means."

* * *

Archer had had enough.

Once Soval had disappeared with Malcolm, presumably to take the lieutenant to where they were holding Kamea, Archer had resumed his frenzied pacing around the conference room. Travis kept his eyes on him all the while; Trip had retreated back to the window and absently stared out of it. All discussion had ceased. Archer wanted to think, and he wanted to think to himself. He needed to work this out.

Something was going on, of that he was certain. If only he could locate these Syrannites that were apparently the cause of all the trouble. If only he could get them to talk, hear their side of the story. Then he'd be able to make an educated decision about where his loyalties should lie. On the one hand, it was quite possible that the Syrannites were violent individuals bent on revolution and would stop at nothing to get their people into positions of power. On the other hand, it was highly probable that the High Command was lying, that the Syrannites posed no serious threat except to the credibility of those in government, and that this whole civil war was just a way to rid themselves of the problem.

Archer had never trusted the High Command. After everything that had happened with his father and the warp project, after the incident with the Andorians on P'Jem, after their platform of non-involvement with the Xindi, he had no reason to trust them. He hadn't trusted them before, and he didn't trust them now. He saw no reason why they should lie about the Syrannites, but then he didn't understand a lot of things that the Vulcans did, and the only two people who could give him any clue as to their motivations had been shuffled out of his sight as soon as possible.

These Syrannites… He wondered what made their interpretations of Surak's teachings different from the High Command's. He didn't see that there could be all that many interpretations, but he supposed it was similar to how many different denominations of Christianity there were on Earth. He was Episcopalian; Trip, he knew, was Southern Baptist. Malcolm, he suspected, was Catholic. He also had reason to believe that Kamea was also Catholic. On Earth, among the different denominations, there had been much conflict before. Some conflicts had escalated to the point of spilling blood. The Spanish Inquisition sought to eliminate all those whose beliefs differed from the teachings of the Catholic Bible.

It was very human behavior that the Vulcans were exhibiting. Each side was adamant in their beliefs, neither was willing to compromise, and those who had little or no involvement with either – like T'Pol – were caught in the middle.

He didn't know what to think about any of this, but he did know that all of the answers to his questions were on Vulcan, and that as soon as Soval returned, he would be escorted off the planet.

Hence the pacing.

"How long has it been?" Archer asked no one in particular, not even bothering to glance up from the path he was treading on the tile floor.

"An eternity," said Trip. The muffle of his voice could only mean that he had not turned around to respond, and a glance toward the window confirmed it. Trip was acting incredibly sullen and moody as of late, and Archer knew it had everything to do with T'Pol. Archer had known that she would need to report for briefing, but he had hoped that they would at least be permitted to say goodbye, since they had no idea when or if they would ever see her again.

"It's been at least an hour, sir," Travis said. His eyes never left the captain.

"How did they get there?" asked Archer, again to no one in particular. "By way of Andoria?"

"Certainly seemed like it," said a familiar voice near the door. Archer turned to find that Soval had returned, Malcolm and Kamea in tow. "I don't think I've ever walked that far in my entire life."

Archer's eyes widened as he noticed the multitude of scratches on Kamea's arms that had most certainly not been there when she'd been taken. But her blue eyes were sparkling with the smile that played on her lips, and his lieutenant did not appear concerned about them, so Archer said nothing. However, seeing those cuts only fueled his mistrust of the High Command.

"Surely you're exaggerating," said Malcolm, leaning against the doorframe.

"I never exaggerate," Kamea said. "I'm Vulcan."

"I don't understand," said Archer. "I thought Malcolm and Kamea were staying planetside."

"And they are," said Soval. "I am to take Kamea and the lieutenant to T'Les's house, where they will be staying. When the doctors have finished their examinations, the two of them will be permitted to return to _Enterprise_."

"And T'Pol?" Trip asked, still not turning from the window.

Soval straightened. "T'Pol will remain in service to the High Command until this conflict with the Syrannites has been resolved. Afterwards, she may return to _Enterprise_, should she choose to do so."

Archer opened his mouth to say that of course she would choose to return to _Enterprise_, but something stopped him. Maybe it was the look in his chief engineer's eyes, or maybe it was the quiet finality of Soval's tone. Whatever the reason, Archer kept his opinion to himself.

"So why didn't you just take Kamea and Malcolm and then come back for us?" Archer asked.

"Kamea expressed an interest in saying goodbye," said the ambassador. "It seemed most logical that we use your shuttle pod to transport her and Lieutenant Reed and leave for _Enterprise_ directly from T'Les's."

"I'm all about logic," Kamea said. She grabbed Malcolm's wrist and pulled him out of the room. Her voice carried into the open door as she dragged Malcolm down the hall. "Let's get going."

Travis walked over to Trip and gently laid a hand on his shoulder. The commander followed the ensign out of the room, looking as though he had just lost his dog. Archer left next, and Soval brought up the rear. Kamea and Malcolm were already specks in the distance when Archer moved into the hallway.

"She seems in good spirits," Archer said, more to himself than to anyone else. But to his surprise, Soval responded.

"I believe that she is anxious to get out of this building," said the ambassador. "She has a strong dislike for doctors, which I find fascinating, as her father was a doctor."

Archer raised his eyebrows. Were they actually having a civil conversation? "I thought Lorian was a scientist."

Soval shook his head. "He was first and foremost a scientist, as many Vulcans are, but his profession on Vulcan was that of a physician. He was a neurobiologist." Soval looked at him. "Did you not wonder how he was able to perform such an operation on his daughter without doing significant neurological damage?"

"So you do believe her?" Archer was under the impression that Soval thought Kamea was full of it. The ambassador had given him no reason to suspect otherwise.

"Lorian documented his experiments well – both the fertility and the neurobiology." Soval paused, as though debating whether or not to continue. "There is little logic in his actions, but the science is sound." Soval shot him another look, a very deliberate look. "It will be difficult to discredit."

Archer thought he saw where Soval was going with this. "But not impossible."

Soval arched an eyebrow but said nothing, and by this time, they had reached the exit. A glance out the window told Archer that Kamea and Malcolm had already boarded the shuttle pod; Travis and Trip were climbing through the door just now. Archer looked back at Soval. "Are you saying that someone intends to discredit Kamea's claims?"

Soval held the door open for Archer. "We should leave soon. We have already been delayed too long."

Archer wondered if Soval was afraid to talk while in the building. Vulcans had supersonic hearing – maybe he was worried about being overheard. It certainly seemed as though the ambassador had more to say and was unwilling to do so. Perhaps that was why he was shepherding them all to T'Les's empty house, where they would most likely not be disturbed. But that didn't make any sense. What would Soval want to tell him? What would Soval tell him, other than, "That information is classified"?

The trip to T'Les's house passed in near silence. If anyone found it odd or awkward that Malcolm and Kamea were going to be staying in the house of the missing and presumed dead mother of their science officer, no one said anything. Trip was just as sullen and moody as ever, seated in the copilot's seat staring forlornly out the window of the pod as Travis piloted it to the outskirts of town. Kamea and Malcolm had taken their seats in the back but were also quiet – for once. Kamea seemed to be anxious about something; she kept tapping her foot incessantly. Archer was half tempted to tell her to knock it off.

In what seemed like an eternity, though it was probably no time at all, Travis was maneuvering the pod in front of a large stone wall with a wooden gate – presumably the entrance to T'Les's house.

Trip raised his head slightly as the house came into view, and Archer remembered belatedly that his chief engineer had been here once before – but the last time, T'Pol wasn't married, and T'Les wasn't missing. It had to be uncomfortable for him, but he didn't say anything – just continued to look depressed.

Malcolm helped Kamea to her feet. He opened the door to the pod, then helped Kamea out of it. The others also spilled out, walking in the direction of the stone wall surrounding T'Les's house. Kamea hesitantly approached the gate, obviously uncomfortable with the idea of staying at her missing aunt's. But she pushed the gate open with very little effort and walked into the courtyard, which Archer had to admit was beautiful. The whole house reminded him of the architecture of the American southwest. Archer had always admired the _haciendas_ he'd seen in Texas and New Mexico.

Kamea looked at Soval. "No one will bother us here, right? We'll be left alone?" Soval merely raised an eyebrow, and Archer realized just how provocatively Kamea's seemingly innocent comment could have been taken. Kamea seemed to realize it, too, because she said, "I mean, I won't have to deal with gawkers or reporters, right? Just the doctors?"

"The High Command would prefer to keep your existence under wraps until the administrator is satisfied with our doctors' results," said Soval.

Kamea smiled slightly and turned to Malcolm. "That's Vulcan for 'yes'." She turned back to Soval. "V'Las doesn't come anywhere near me."

Soval cleared his throat. "The administrator will no doubt want to – "

"V'Las doesn't come anywhere near me," Kamea said again, with a touch more malice in her voice. "Swear it to me. Swear it on my father's grave."

The ambassador sighed, almost imperceptibly. "_Ko-fu_, I can make no guarantees."

Archer had no idea what _ko-fu_ meant, but Soval's use of it seemed to please Kamea. "I'd appreciate anything you're able to do, _to-zot_. I don't trust V'Las's intentions."

"Nor should you," Soval said. "He has been in a position of power for years and is obsessed with his power. He is willing to do anything in order to retain his position in the High Command."

"Why are you telling us this?" Archer asked. Soval had never willingly divulged information before. Now he was practically spilling his guts. None of this was making any sense, and Archer had never been more confused than he was at this moment. Everyone was acting out of character, no one was behaving as he should, and he was about to release Kamea and Malcolm into an empty house with virtually no supervision for who knew how long.

It was Kamea, not Soval, who answered Archer's question. "V'Las wants to discredit my father. He doesn't want news of a Vulcan/human hybrid to reach the public's ears. It would severely weaken the stability of the High Command; it would invalidate a lot of 'truths' that the High Command has been preaching since its inception. My father knew this. It's one of the reasons he left Vulcan."

"How could you possibly know that?" Archer asked.

Kamea stopped. She turned to face him, looking genuinely confused. "I don't know."

"Speaking of not knowing," said Malcolm, "what happened to Commander Tucker?"

Archer looked around. He, Soval, Malcolm, and Kamea were all standing in the middle of the courtyard. Travis had wandered off and was peering through the windows into the house. Trip was nowhere to be found. Archer could see the shuttle pod through the still-open gate, and Trip wasn't there either.

"He was right behind us," Archer said. "Where could he possibly have gone?"


	9. An Unwelcome Visitor

**A/N: I imagine much of the following chapter would take place in Vulcan, but as mentioned numerous times previously, I am lazy and not quite as adept at translating English to Vulcan as I am of, say, English to French. Although, now that I think about it, I'm not very good at that either. My best friend was a French major. All questions about French get directed to her.**

**_Yon-ek'zer:_ ruby**

**_K'lalatar prkori k'lalatar: _Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations**

**Thanks for the reviews! I'm so glad to see that you guys came back to read this, even after I fell off the face of the Earth.**

**

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Chapter Nine: An Unwelcome Visitor**

Boredom was not an emotion; it was a state of being. But Vulcans did not acknowledge boredom, no matter what it could be classified as. "A bored mind is a lazy mind, an undeveloped mind," was a popular saying among Vulcan parents. If one was bored, he or she was simply not trying hard enough. There was always something to do, something to learn. According to Vulcan myth, the idea for space travel had been formulated because a Vulcan was bored one night and lay staring at the stars, wondering what they were and if it were possible to get closer to them. Many scientific achievements had been discovered because the Vulcans who had discovered them were attempting to alleviate boredom. In short, a Vulcan should never be bored.

T'Pol was bored. In fact, she could not remember a time when she had been more bored than she was at this particular moment. She repeated the word over and over in her head. _Bored, bored, bored, bored, bored, bored._ She had to stop herself from tilting her head back and forth in time with her inner mantra; she was supposed to be paying attention to General V'Lin – head of the small and somewhat ill-equipped Vulcan military – but after spending so long among humans, the virtual flatness of the general's tone had T'Pol actually wishing for an overly-emotional conversation with her cousin. Kamea may have been hotheaded, but at least she was interesting. T'Pol could not say the same for V'Lin.

Besides, the head tilt while saying "bored" repeatedly reminded her of something Commander Tucker might do in a similar situation. Thinking of Trip was unpleasant, as it only served to remind her that she may very well never see him again, and they had never exchanged proper goodbyes.

Perhaps that was the way Trip wanted it. He had been avoiding her ever since she had informed him that she was being recalled to Vulcan. He made it a point to never be in the same room as her for long periods of time. He left the mess hall if he saw her arriving, sometimes abandoning his food mid-meal. He sent Kamea to the bridge in his stead, unless Captain Archer specifically requested his presence. If engineering had a question for the science department, he directed it to Lieutenant Carver, her second in command. It had only been a few days, but it felt like much longer.

Worst of all was the fact that she could feel his pain through their bond. He was hurting, but what he failed to realize is that so was she. She was no happier with this change in events than he was. She did not want to remain on Vulcan with Koss; she did not want to bear his children or be his doting wife. But she would, if he requested it, because it was expected of her. For too long she had been neglecting her heritage, doing things that most Vulcans would never dream of doing. She needed to be a traditional Vulcan wife, no matter how much she detested and loathed the man to whom she was married.

If only she had been given the opportunity to explain this to Trip, perhaps he would not have reacted so harshly to her announcement. But she knew that to be a lie. Trip would have been upset no matter how she felt about it. He did not like Koss, he did not like that she was married to Koss, and he did not like that she intended to stay married to Koss.

She just wished that she had gotten to say goodbye.

She expected that had been purposeful. She and the others had barely been on Vulcan five minutes before V'Las and Soval had spirited her away. Though she did not agree with Captain Archer's decision to personally bring her to the High Command after Ambassador Soval had informed him that the Vulcans were sending a shuttle, even she had to admit that the administrator arresting them for violating a non-existent order was a little rash.

It seemed very much like something a human would do. But T'Pol wisely held her tongue and allowed the guards to lead her to one of the lecture halls in the High Command's headquarters for her briefing. The hall was nearly full – others, like her, who had been recalled from active duty on other planets or starships – and she had taken a seat near the front, so as to appear interested. But she was not interested. This…conflict…between the Syrannites and the High Command, it had nothing to do with her. She was a member of Starfleet, not the High Command, and she technically did not answer to them anymore.

However, if she returned to Vulcan under the guise of loyalty to her people, she could perhaps better probe the bizarre circumstances surrounding the disappearance of her mother. Koss had not given her many details, but she suspected that was because he did not know them. According to the message that he sent to her, T'Les had simply vanished. He had gone to check on her when she did not report for work one morning and found the house empty. There was no sign of a struggle, and she had left no note. She was just gone.

If this incessant briefing should happen to have an end sometime in the near future, T'Pol intended to use what little free time she would be given before having to report for duty to stop by her mother's house and investigate. It was not that she did not trust Koss; she wanted to see the evidence for herself.

And she did not trust Koss.

Finally, V'Lin finished his lecture, something T'Pol only realized because the others around her were rising from their seats. She stood and quickly made her way through the crowd to the exit, intending to sneak away before receiving her assignment. Unfortunately, in her haste to get away, she bumped into the last person on the planet she wanted to see.

"Greetings, T'Pol," said Koss. He held up his hand, and she knew he expected her to touch her fingers to his. It was a traditional greeting for married couples. T'Pol would have coolly ignored him and continued on her way to the door, but quite a few people were watching them with more than a passing interest, so she grudgingly obliged.

"Hello, Koss." She attempted to sidestep him and continue on her way, but he mirrored her actions and blocked her path. "Did you want something?"

"Only to see my wife," he said. "In case you may have forgotten, it has been months since we were last together."

T'Pol gritted her teeth. "I had not forgotten." She attempted to sidestep him once more, but he stepped in front of her again. "That is extremely irritating."

Koss cocked an eyebrow. "So are your constant attempts to get away from me. Have I done something to offend you?"

T'Pol permitted an imperceptible sigh. She may not have wanted to be Koss's wife, but she could not deny that he had been incredibly accommodating of their situation. He had not asked her to remain on Vulcan for the customary year following their marriage, but had instead allowed her to return to _Enterprise_ immediately after the ceremony. He had contacted her about her mother's disappearance, he had given her a heads up about the High Command's orders, and he had said nothing about her bond with Commander Tucker, of which he would have been aware.

"No," she said quietly. "You haven't."

Koss nodded to the hallway behind T'Pol, down which the others were quietly filing. "You weren't thinking of leaving before receiving your assignment, were you?"

T'Pol shook her head, though that had been her intention. However, she did not want to give Koss the satisfaction of knowing that he had guessed that. "I simply wished to – "

"Investigate your mother's disappearance?" She must have been visibly surprised, because he said, "It is what I would do, were I in your situation." He turned slightly at the waist and eyed the empty corridor behind him. "Would you like me to escort you?"

_No, that is exactly the opposite of what I would like._ She clenched her jaw. "If you wish."

They took a public, open-air shuttle, which stopped at the end of the very long and relatively dusty road that led to T'Les's house. They had to walk the rest of the way, which passed in uncomfortable silence. T'Pol had nothing to say to Koss, and he seemed to recognize that, so he remained quiet as well. T'Pol idly glanced down at the path and immediately thought of something.

"Did you happen to notice a disturbance in the dirt?" she asked.

Koss shook his head. "Nothing out of the ordinary, though any footprints would be circumstantial. They would most likely have belonged to T'Les."

T'Pol nodded. Much as she hated to admit it, it was true. Her heart gave a little lurch as she though about what Trip's response to her question would be.

_A disturbance?_ he would say, in that southern drawl of his that was positively endearing. _What do you mean, like, now?_ He either would not have realized that she was referring to the day her mother disappeared, or he would have realized exactly what she was referring to and was trying to anger her. He seemed to enjoy doing that, for reasons she could not really understand.

"I trust your trip was eventful," Koss said after a while. She kept her eyes on the black spot on the horizon that was her mother's residence and said nothing in response to his bizarre statement. "Were you in the quadrant? From what I understand, _Enterprise_ received Soval's message only a few days ago."

"Admiral Forrest," T'Pol said, slipping uncharacteristic bite into her voice, "contacted Captain Archer three days ago. We were in the Alpha Quadrant, near Denobula."

Koss raised his eyebrows. "That is quite a distance to travel in only three days."

"Commander Tucker has been experimenting with the warp drive. _Enterprise_ is able to travel at slightly greater speeds."

If Koss was annoyed with her mention of Trip, he did not show it, not that she had expected him to. She was the one more likely to have an emotional reaction. Koss folded his arms behind his back. "I did not think humans possessed that knowledge at this point in time."

T'Pol did not miss his accusatory tone. "Just what are you insinuating?"

"I did not mean to imply that you had anything to do with that," Koss said, though it was evident that that was precisely what he meant to imply. "I was merely stating that humans have neither the technology nor the knowledge to pass warp five, and I am aware of your…relationship…with Commander Tucker – "

She immediately raised her defenses – if not for the comment about Trip, than for the implication that she had relayed classified information to the _Enterprise_ engineering crew. "Commander Tucker is an extremely gifted engineer. He was a member of the team who reached warp three, along with Captain Archer." She paused, unsure if she should continue with her explanation. After all, Kamea was the main instigator behind _Enterprise's_ upgrades, and T'Pol was certain that the High Command did not wish for Kamea's existence to be made public.

Koss held up his hands in a gesture of concession. "It was not my intention to insult you or any of the crew of _Enterprise_. It was a simple statement."

He was lying, T'Pol could tell. She chose not to comment. "It is of no consequence," she said, "because _Enterprise_ has been unable to pass warp five as of yet. It lacks the proper structural components. However, in the past we were not able to exceed warp four-point-five for extended periods of time."

"And now _Enterprise_ is able to do so?"

"Yes."

Koss once again folded his arms behind his back. "Still, it is an amazing achievement. To accomplish it in only a few months, without access to a space dock…" He trailed off, leaving the implication of his next few words hanging in the air.

T'Pol was immensely relieved when her mother's house finally came into view. She opened the gate that led to the courtyard, but before she could shut it, Koss slipped in. She tried and failed to hide her disappointment that he had decided to remain. "You asked if you could escort me," T'Pol said, hoping that her annoyance was not reflected in her voice. "We have arrived. You may leave now."

"I had thought," Koss said, moving past her, along the stone path, to the door to the house, "that perhaps you would want me to stay. I was hardly detailed in my message, as I was afraid it may have been intercepted."

The way he said "intercepted" had T'Pol on immediately on guard. The last message he had sent her on _Enterprise_ was years ago, only a few months into the mission, asking her to return to Vulcan and fulfill the obligations of their engagements. He had sent it encrypted, rousing suspicion from several of _Enterprise's_ crewmembers – most notably Commander Tucker. Trip had thought, at the time, that she was spying on _Enterprise_ for the High Command, only to discover the truth behind the message. She had not informed anyone, with the exception of Trip, what was in the message. But the inflection in Koss's voice, the way the word came out of his mouth, it made her wonder if his bond with her was stronger than hers was with him.

After all, she had bonded with Trip before bonding with Koss, so it was a distinct possibility.

"I assumed that you would want to ask me some questions," Koss said, continuing without pause. "About the day your mother disappeared. I'm happy to assist in any way I can."

_Surak, give me strength,_ thought T'Pol, quickly realizing that Koss was not about to leave. What made her think that she could possibly stomach being married to this man for the rest of her life? One of her earlier conversations with Kamea suddenly came to mind, when T'Pol had asked about her parents' unusual relationship.

_Where is the logic,_ Kamea had said, _in marrying someone you do not love?_

T'Pol pushed her cousin's voice out of her brain – thinking along those lines would only serve to upset her – and stalked past Koss and into the house.

It was as Koss had said. There were no signs of struggle – no furniture was overturned, no ornaments were out of place, no stacks of paper were askew; nothing to suggest that T'Les had been forcibly removed from the property. If it were T'Pol, she would have put up a fight if she were surprised in her home, and she imagined that T'Les would do the same. Though, now that she thought about it, her mother was slightly more subdued. Perhaps T'Les would see the logic in simply going along with her captor's wishes rather than run the risk of being injured or killed. However, T'Pol continued to slowly make her way through the house, looking for any clues as to what had happened and finding absolutely nothing. She was beginning to think that this was a complete waste of her time when something on the floor of her mother's bedroom caught her eye.

She knelt down to examine the object and discovered that it was a pendant. The pendant was a circle pierced with a triangle; at the apex of the triangle was a _yon-ek'zer_. The entire thing was made of gold. T'Pol cocked her head to the side, staring at the pendant. It was the only thing out of place in the entire house, and though T'Pol had never seen it before, it looked old enough to be an heirloom. She picked up the pendant and held it gingerly in her hand.

Koss came up behind her, a little closer than she normally would have allowed, and leaned slightly over her to see what she had found. "An IDIC pendant," he said. "Interesting."

T'Pol stood. "_K'lalatar prkori k'lalatar_? Are you certain?"

"Yes. Surely you must have seen the symbol before?"

She had – at the monastery at P'Jem, in the temple at Mount Seleya. Never on a golden pendant in her mother's bedroom. What was it doing on the floor? Was this the sign of struggle for which she had been searching? Had T'Les possibly been holding this at the time she was surprised by her abductors, and had dropped in to leave a clue? Or had she not realized that she had dropped it?

T'Pol was just wondering if perhaps she was overanalyzing things when something that sounded suspiciously like a shuttle pod came unusually close to the house. It sounded as if it were landing just outside, but that was impossible. The only thing in the area was T'Les's house. What business could anyone possibly have here?

Koss had turned in the direction of the sound. "Are you expecting company?" he asked.

She shot him a pointed look. "Who would know that I was here?"

She slipped the pendant around her neck and tucked it into her shirt, so that it was not visible. Then she walked into the main room, intending to peer out the window to see what she could determine, but she stopped in her tracks as soon as she walked through the doorway.

Trip was standing there, fingering the furniture almost reverently.

* * *

The house was just as he remembered it. It didn't look like anything had changed. He wondered absently if T'Les had ever gotten the food synthesizer repaired. _Probably_, he thought. _It's been months._ He glanced idly out the window and saw that the others had all stopped in the courtyard and were talking about something. He considered joining them outside, but his mind suddenly grew fuzzy, which could mean only one thing, though it seemed unlikely.

"Trip?"

He knew that voice. He would have known that voice even if he were deaf. He hadn't needed to hear her voice, anyway. He could sense her presence; he could practically smell her. She was everywhere. He turned around, and there she was – T'Pol.

Trip opened his mouth to say something but was distracted by movement behind T'Pol. His eyes narrowed as that bastard Koss exited what Trip knew to be T'Les's bedroom and came up directly beside T'Pol. "Commander Tucker," said Koss. "I didn't expect to see you."

"Same here," said Trip. He chewed on the inside of his cheek. He thought T'Pol was being briefed on the situation. What was she doing here in the middle of the day, coming out of her mother's bedroom with Koss right behind her? His desire to leave Vulcan far, far behind was only growing the longer they remained on the planet. He wished Soval would just drop off Kamea and let them go back to _Enterprise_.

"What are you doing here?" T'Pol asked. She slowly inched away from Koss. The gesture was small, barely noticeable, but Trip saw. He wondered if she were doing that because she couldn't stand to be around Koss or because she generally couldn't stand to be that close to anyone. She let Trip be that near to her, but they had spent months in close quarters before she would allow him that luxury.

However, he couldn't ignore the sudden surge of guilt that he knew wasn't his.

Trip jerked his thumb over his shoulder, indicating the others out in the courtyard. Whatever they were discussing, it seemed pretty intense. "Kamea didn't want to stay at headquarters, or whatever that building is, so Soval brought her here."

"Who is Kamea, and why would Soval bring her here?" Koss asked.

T'Pol looked genuinely confused. "Why does Kamea have to stay?"

Right. She wouldn't know anything about that, having been shuffled out of sight practically the minute they touched down on the surface. "V'Las wants Vulcan doctors to examine her."

"He doesn't trust Phlox's findings?" Trip just looked at her, and she nodded. "Of course he doesn't. She'll be staying here alone, then?"

Trip shook his head. He wanted to smile but just couldn't bring himself to do it. "Captain wouldn't allow it. Malcolm's going hang around, keep her company."

Her raised eyebrows were amusing enough, but he still couldn't smile. "Is that wise?"

Koss interrupted, displaying as much anger as a Vulcan would permit. "Who is Kamea?"

Before Trip could answer – he seemed to be getting preemptively interrupted a lot lately – he heard someone calling his name. "Trip!" It was Kamea, and that girl had a set of lungs. Her shouts echoed in the courtyard.

"Trip!" That was Captain Archer. He also had quite a set of pipes. He usually only got that loud after a couple shots of scotch.

Kamea and Archer's shouts were joined by Malcolm's, "Commander Tucker!"

Trip sighed. They obviously hadn't noticed that he had entered the house. He wondered how long it would take them to realize that he hadn't disappeared and was just inside, but as he was thinking that, the front door opened and Kamea walked into the house.

"Whoa," she said upon entering, "déjà vü."

Archer was right behind her. "You've been saying that for fifteen minutes. It's starting to get on my nerves."

Malcolm followed close behind the captain. "Starting to? She's been getting on my nerves for months now."

Kamea snorted. "Yeah, well, I haven't exactly heard you complaining."

"Not to your face."

Trip loudly cleared his throat, and Kamea threw up her hands in obvious frustration. "See? I told you he was in here. The sooner you all learn that I'm always right, the better off we'll all be."

She walked towards him, but slowed her pace when she noticed that Trip was not the only person in the room. "T'Pol," she said, though she didn't sound surprised. Her eyes narrowed as she scrutinized Koss. Trip made it a point to ask her what she thought about him; he was suddenly quite anxious to learn her opinion. "And this must be Koss." Her hands twitched, as though she was about to shake his hand.

"Hello," Koss said. He looked uncomfortable. Trip made a mental note to thank Kamea for her impeccable timing later. "And you are?"

"Kamea. T'Pol's cousin." She paused momentarily, and everyone watched Koss for signs of a reaction. Kamea gave him a slight smile. "I'm guessing she didn't mention that." Koss opened his mouth to say something, but Kamea obviously wasn't done. "Not that I really expected her to. I get the feeling she's still kind of adjusting to the knowledge."

"T'Pol," Trip said, slowly and clearly, "what are you doing here?"

The guilt had returned full force, with a side order of panic, and Trip knew that the next words out of T'Pol's mouth were going to be a lie. "I wished to pick up a few things before I left on assignment."

He would have believed that, were she holding anything. Ordinarily, he would have given her the benefit of the doubt, but the presence of Koss negated any of the goodwill he would normally have shown her. He knew she would see right through his act, but damnit, he was jealous, and he wasn't thinking clearly, and if he behaved like a jackass now, it wouldn't be any different from the way he'd been acting the past couple of days anyway. But she was hiding something, he could tell. He desperately wanted to know what.

He nodded at her noticeably empty hands. "Like what?"

T'Pol's eyes hardened. "It is none of your concern."

_But apparently, it's Koss's,_ he thought bitterly. After all, the guy was T'Pol's husband, much as Trip hated to acknowledge it. His stomach churned as he thought of all the reasons T'Pol and Koss could have come to her mother's empty house in the middle of the day.

Archer coughed, obviously uncomfortable. "Well, whatever the reason, I'm glad you're here, T'Pol," he said. "I was kind of hoping we'd get the chance to tell you goodbye."

She stiffened. "I had hoped to do the same." Trip knew she had set a lot of her goodbyes – to Hoshi, to the members of her team, to Phlox – on _Enterprise_. She had remained stoic throughout them, but Trip could tell that she was falling apart on the inside, and she was just too Vulcan to admit that she was going to miss everyone. She'd lived on _Enterprise_ for more than four years; it was her home more than Vulcan was, and she didn't want to leave it.

But she was, and that was the important thing. As much as he hated the thought of her leaving, he'd known all along that she would. It was her duty, and she would do it.

She said her goodbyes – first Travis, then Malcolm, Soval, Archer, Kamea… Each one got something personal in addition to the traditional Vulcan salute. Kamea threw her arms around T'Pol, who seemed momentarily startled, but allowed the younger Vulcan to embrace her, albeit briefly. Lastly, she came to him. As she stood in front of him, looking so beautiful and tired and like she was going to burst into tears at any moment, Trip wanted nothing more than to grab her, carry her out to the shuttle pod, and fly off into the sunset. But he automatically went into self-protection mode and threw up the defenses before she could sense what he really wanted to do.

"Don't drag out no long goodbye or anything," he said, with a little more malice than he intended. Even he winced at the callousness of his tone. "Wouldn't want you to be late for your assignment."

T'Pol looked as though she had been slapped across the face. Her bottom lip quivered and her eyes watered – but only for a moment, and then the mask had returned. "Indeed. I certainly wouldn't want to keep you from whatever alien species may want to impregnate you this time."

Trip's jaw hit the floor. He knew he'd never live that incident with the Xyrillians down, but for T'Pol to bring it up right now, like this, in front of Koss… It hurt more than he cared to admit. He glanced around at the others and saw that Kamea's shoulders were shaking with silent laughter.

She snorted abruptly, and when Trip leveled a glare in her direction, she said, "And I thought I had bad luck."

He turned back to T'Pol, intent on giving her a piece of his mind, but she turned on her heel and stalked out the front door.

"It was nice to see you again, Commander Tucker," said Koss, before he followed T'Pol outside.

The others watched them go. Kamea cocked an eyebrow. "So that's Koss, huh?" she asked, a distinct note of appreciation in her voice. "Cute."

"What?" Trip said, noticing that he wasn't the only person who had that same reaction. Malcolm looked positively livid – probably couldn't stand the idea of Kamea admitting that someone who was not him was attractive.

Kamea shrugged, not the least bit apologetic. "I'm just saying. Girl could do worse."

Trip sighed and scrubbed his hands across his face. That was not what he needed to hear at this particular moment in time. He had just let T'Pol walk away from him without telling her any of what he felt, because what he felt, there weren't any words to describe it adequately. He may never see her again, and the last thing he wanted was for her last memory of him to be of him acting like a jackass, but when he was hurt, he tended to act without thinking. And he was hurt – so emotionally hurt that it physically hurt. But now T'Pol was gone, and he hadn't told her anything. He hadn't even told her "goodbye".

When he dropped them and looked at the others, he found that they were all staring at him – including Soval. "What?"

Archer raised his eyebrows in mild surprise. "You're not going to let her leave like that, are you?"

Trip folded his arms defiantly across his chest. "So what if I am?" he asked, his tone more than a little defensive.

"Sheesh, you're an idiot," Kamea said.

"Trip," Archer said, his voice soothing, "you have to go after her. You can't let that be it."

Trip couldn't speak. Since when had Archer been all gung ho about his and T'Pol's relationship – or lack thereof? Now he was practically ordering him to run off and tell T'Pol everything. He also couldn't believe that they were discussing this in front of Soval, of all people.

"Pride, Commander," Kamea said, "is not exclusively a Vulcan trait. Sooner or later, you have to swallow it."

He could feel tears burning his eyes, but he wasn't about to cry in front of everyone.

Kamea continued, undeterred. "You let her go, you'll regret it for the rest of your life."

Trip jammed the heels of his hands into his eyes to stop the tears. Kamea had no right to lecture him about his love life, since she was obviously in love with Malcolm and hadn't done anything about it. But he couldn't help but admit that she had a point. If he didn't at least tell T'Pol goodbye properly, he would never forgive himself.

_Damn. Why does life have to be so damn hard?_

"Fine," he said, practically spitting the word out. "If it'll get y'all off my back."

He deliberately stormed out of the house, but as soon as he was in the courtyard, he took off at a run. He had to catch T'Pol before she got too far away. Luckily, she hadn't gotten far. He could still plainly see her and Koss in the near distance, walking in the direction of the main road. He caught up to them in a matter of minutes, though he was out of breath when he reached them.

"T'Pol," he said, through his wheezes. He gasped and clutched a stitch in his side. It had been a while since he'd done any serious running. "Wait a minute."

He could tell that she was still hurt, but to her credit she didn't punch him. "Yes, Commander?"

"I – I've got to tell you something," Trip said, still panting. Man, he was out of shape. He'd have to start working out on a more regular basis. "I just wanted to say – "

"What is that?" Koss asked, pointing at something off to their right, near a jumble of large boulders a ways from the path.

Trip had never wanted to kill anyone or anything more than he wanted to kill Koss at that moment. He hoped he sounded sincerely annoyed when he said, "What is what?"

Koss ignored him, walking towards the rocks and motioning that T'Pol should follow. "There appears to be something on one of those boulders."

T'Pol shot Trip a longing glance, but followed Koss to the rocks. When Trip had managed to catch his breath, he joined them. No one said anything. Whatever Koss claimed to have seen (Trip suspected it was all a ploy to prevent Trip from confessing what Koss must have known he was going to confess), Trip couldn't see it. The silence was starting to get to him, and after they had stared at the rocks for a few minutes, Trip had had enough.

"Well," he said, "this is fascinating, but I don't – "

"You don't see it?" T'Pol asked. There was a waver in her voice that immediately sent a chill up Trip's spine. Something was obviously wrong.

Trip shook his head. "See what?"

Koss pointed to a dark spot on one of the nearer boulders. "Blood."


	10. Basic Elementary School Logic

**A/N: Sorry about that. I had a wedding (not mine), and the muse went on vacation. Also, things are kind of stressful for me right now, and I just didn't feel like writing.**

**The interaction between Kamea and Malcolm later in the chapter is stolen from "Affliction". I liked the idea and figured it would be kind of universal.**

**_Ta'a_: traditional Vulcan salute**

**_Kaumaha_: I'm sorry.**

**_Kulikuli:_ Shut up.**

**_Glantau:_ Watch.**

**_Kālele ia'u:_ Trust me.**

**_Kash-nohv:_ Mind-meld**

**Reviews are always appreciated. Feedback turns me into a better writer. :) Any criticism, any advice that you have for me may just help me shape this story better. So don't be afraid to comment. Just don't yell at me or tell me that I suck. Because I will sic my army of wiener dogs after you.**

**firebirdgirl: I agree. Koss is a total dipstick.**

**Blackn'blue: It was not my intention to make Trip a whiny crybaby. I hadn't even realized he was coming off that way. (I have a tendency to do that.) I hope this chapter, while not completely reinserting Trip's backbone, at least gets him on the operating table.**

**

* * *

Chapter Ten: Basic Elementary School Logic**

Trip didn't see what the big deal was. So there was blood on a rock. It was probably from one of those – he struggled to remember the name – _sehlats_. Or something. He just couldn't understand why he suddenly felt anxious, which he knew wasn't him – it was T'Pol. The waver in her voice was unexpected. Something was scaring her, and T'Pol never got scared. At least, he'd never seen her scared. He assumed that she would've gotten scared as a child. Maybe.

"Blood?" T'Pol said quietly. She took a step back, as though trying to steady herself, and Trip instinctively reached out to steady her in case she stumbled. He quickly withdrew his hands when Koss shot him a death glare. "Are you certain?"

Koss just gave her a look that plainly said, _Of course I am._

Trip had absolutely no idea what was going on.

Besides, he couldn't see this supposed blood anyway. It could just be a discolored spot on the rock. Rocks sometimes had those.

He had half a mind to leave – this was ridiculous, why had he ever thought this was a good idea – but he saw how upset T'Pol was and decided to stay. T'Pol didn't sound scared. She didn't stumble or lose her footing. She never needed to steady herself. Something was seriously wrong; he just had no idea what it was.

"T'Pol?" he said, not even bothering to phrase the rest of the question. His hands twitched, moving to touch her arm of their own accord, but he refrained. Probably not a good idea in front of her husband. That Vulcan death glare could really do a number on a guy's self-esteem.

Koss cocked an eyebrow. "This does not concern you, Commander Tucker."

Trip opened his mouth to respond but thought better of it. Much as he hated to admit it, he was beginning to realize that Koss had a point. _Ugh,_ he thought_. Words that should never be uttered in the same sentence._ T'Pol was Koss's wife, not Trip's, and anything going on between the two of them was best left between the two of them. Trip had no right to interfere with what went on among married couples, no matter how he felt about the obvious sham of a marriage. After all, a sham marriage was still a marriage. T'Pol was not Trip's property. He couldn't very well force her to do anything she did not want to do – that much had been obvious years ago. If she did not want him to know what was going on, then he wasn't going to know, and it wasn't going to help trying to muscle his way in. Koss would outmuscle him anyway. Hell, T'Pol would outmuscle him.

He really had to stop listening to Kamea. The girl had no idea what she was talking about half the time.

Trip gritted his teeth. While he could do nothing about Koss being T'Pol's husband, he could still hate the guy with every fiber of his being, which was what he intended to do until the day one of them died. "Fine. I just wanted to tell T'Pol goodbye anyway."

He ignored Koss's insistences that he had already said goodbye and turned to T'Pol. He studied her carefully. He could tell that something – the invisible blood on the rock, most likely – had upset her, but there were no outward signs that she was anything other than the stoic Vulcan that she always was.

Trip nearly rolled his eyes. And if he believed that…

He leaned forward and lowered his voice, hoping that he was quiet enough so that not even Koss's super-Vulcan senses could overhear him. "I'm sorry about what I said. I just – I don't like the idea of you leaving."

T'Pol probably would have smiled at that, had she been human. He hoped the sincerity of his statement was evident in his tone. "I am not fond of it myself. But it is – "

"Necessary," Trip said, nodding. "Yeah. I got that." And he got it. And he got it. He didn't have to have it beaten into his head to get the point. "Doesn't mean I have to like it."

"No," T'Pol said. "It does not."

Trip gave her a half-hearted smile. His hands itched to take her in his arms; he once again refrained. "I'm gonna miss you, T'Pol. _Enterprise_ won't be the same without you, you know."

"Good." Trip smiled at the barest hint of smug satisfaction in her voice. "I will…miss you as well."

He had stretched out his arm to shake her hand, and though she reached to grab it, he pulled it back at the last minute and split his fingers down the middle, giving her the _ta'a_. "Live long and prosper, T'Pol."

She returned the salute. "Peace and long life, Commander."

He groaned inwardly. God, were they back to "Commander" again? Damn. He had just gotten used to her calling him "Trip". He liked it when she called him "Trip". It meant a lot more coming out of her mouth than, say, the captain's. But he figured that calling him his nickname in front of her husband was not the best idea, given the way Vulcans viewed nicknames. And Koss already looked pretty peeved at how close Trip was standing to T'Pol. Trip considered moving, to put the other guy's mind at ease, but didn't, just to be a jackass.

Okay. So maybe he couldn't be T'Pol's lover, husband, mate, whatever. He could still be her friend. He'd rather have her as a friend than not have her in his life at all. Why in the hell had he listened to Kamea? All that crap she kept spouting about how he should talk to T'Pol, how he shouldn't let things end like this. Blah, blah, blah. He and T'Pol were well past the talking stage. If she didn't know by now how he felt about her, she damn well wasn't going to know.

T'Pol was a smart girl. She'd probably figured it out. And if she hadn't… Well, he didn't like to think about that.

He must've made a complete ass of himself, wandering around the ship like his life was over, snapping at people for the dumbest reasons, acting like no one should be happy because he was miserable. What was that old adage? _Acceptance is the first step in the healing process?_ Or was it the last step? Well, it was one of the steps, that was for sure. And maybe he was finally beginning to accept something that had happened more than six months ago.

"Well," Trip said loudly, bringing Koss back into the conversation but still standing mere inches from T'Pol, "I best be getting back. I'm sure V'Las is pissed we haven't left yet."

"Indeed," said Koss, moving around Trip to stand beside T'Pol. "Farewell, Commander Tucker."

Trip nodded, licking his lips. "Yeah. Bye, Koss." He gave T'Pol a pathetic excuse for a wave and started back for the house.

His eyes burned with tears, but he forced them back. He'd already cried enough times over T'Pol. Crying wasn't going to change the situation. She wouldn't suddenly be divorced just because he shed a few tears. He needed to suck it up and be a man. He certainly couldn't imagine Archer or Travis bawling over a woman like this.

Malcolm maybe.

He had not gone ten feet when T'Pol called his name. "Trip!"

Surprised that she had used his nickname in Koss's presence, Trip turned around, his eyebrows raised. T'Pol quickly walked over to him; Koss followed behind like the dutiful dog that he was. Trip wondered if maybe T'Pol were going to kiss him again, as she had done at her wedding, but he didn't think so. He could still feel the anxiety that was radiating off her in waves, and when he looked into her eyes, he saw that they were a mass of confusion.

This time he gave into the impulse to touch her. He gently laid his hand on her elbow. At this point, he didn't give a damn what impression he was giving Koss. "T'Pol, what's wrong?"

She looked at him, her brown eyes shimmering in the desert heat, and said. "My mother has disappeared."

Trip wasn't sure that he'd heard her correctly. "Disappeared? You mean, like, she's missing?"

T'Pol nodded. "Yes. Koss sent me a message several days ago – "

So that was the reason he'd contacted her. Trip nearly did a dance, he was so happy.

" – to inform me that she had vanished."

The urge to dance faded as quickly as it had appeared. No wonder T'Pol was so upset about the discovery of blood on a rock – which Trip was still convinced was nonexistent. He had yet to see any blood. She must have been out of her mind with worry, which explained the massive waves of anxiety he was trying to fight off. She and her mother were not extremely close, but she was still family, and as T'Pol had put aside her own happiness for her mother's benefit, there had to be something there, at least.

Something suddenly occurred to him. "Is that what you were doing at the house?"

"I wanted to examine her residence for any clues," T'Pol said. There was a distinct note of relief in her voice, which Trip suspected was because he knew the truth. "It does not make sense, Trip. One cannot simply vanish."

Trip shrugged and glanced at the horizon, squinting in the bright sunlight. "Maybe she didn't. Did it look like someone grabbed her?"

"You were in the house. Did it appear to be out of order in any way, as though a struggle had occurred there?"

Trip reluctantly shook his head. The place had looked immaculate, just as it had when he'd been there all those months ago. A few new decorations, but basically the same. "Maybe she wasn't nabbed at the house. Maybe someone took her from in town."

"No one has seen her in days," Koss said. "I took the liberty of questioning some of her neighbors."

_Of course you did. _Trip nodded, not really listening. "Right." He crossed his arms and stared at T'Pol. "What do you think happened?"

T'Pol lifted her shoulders slightly, shrugging without really shrugging. "I have no idea. There is no logical explanation for her disappearance, Trip."

"Maybe she – "

"My mother is not the type to suddenly go on a – a vacation, if that is what you were thinking."

It was, and the fact that she had figured that out really freaked him out. But he chose not to say anything about that. "Okay…"

Obviously something else was going on. Trip had met T'Les, and she wasn't the type to just take off without warning. Not unless she were threatened. This whole thing with the Syrannites, and suddenly T'Pol's mother disappeared? It was all a little too convenient. Maybe T'Les was somehow mixed up in this business with the Syrannites.

But how could he broach the topic to T'Pol without severely pissing her off? Implying that her mother was somehow involved, she would probably hate him into the next century. "When, um, when did the Syrannites start rebelling?"

He was speaking to T'Pol, but it was Koss who answered. T'Pol, of course, would have no idea, having been on _Enterprise_ the entire time. "Seventeen days ago," said Koss. "Someone broke into the temple at Mount Seleya and stole several priceless artifacts."

Trip raised his eyebrows. Stealing priceless artifacts did not sound like something any Vulcans would do. Perhaps the race was not as infallible as they liked others to believe. Or perhaps there was more to this conflict than the High Command was willing to admit. Soval had told them some things, but he hadn't told them much. "And the High Command thinks it was the Syrannites?"

Koss nodded, his lips pressed into a thin line, looking about as upset as a Vulcan would allow himself to look. "The High Command received a communiqué from the Syrannites thirteen hours after the event, taking responsibility for the crime."

"What was stolen?"

"Commander Tucker," Koss said, "with all due respect, that information is classified."

Trip didn't feel that there was any respect in Koss's statement. He was also convinced that Vulcan infants learned how to say, "That information is classified," before they learned how to say anything else. His first word was "pie". Trip held up his hands in a gesture of concession. He really wasn't in the mood to get in an argument with Koss. "Just asking a question, Koss."

T'Pol seemed to have realized where his train of thought was headed. "Do you think that my mother is involved somehow?"

He paused, pursing his lips, and tried to think of the best way to answer that question without upsetting T'Pol. "If she's not involved, then she knows something that they don't want anyone else to know."

Koss heaved an overdramatic sigh, which was very un-Vulcan. "Commander Tucker, there was no sign of a struggle in T'Les's house."

Trip shrugged. "Maybe there was no struggle. Maybe they had weapons. Maybe they forced her. I don't know." He looked at Koss, then used his head to gesture towards the group of rocks. "So where did you see this blood?"

Koss crossed his arms behind his back. "Are you implying that I am fabricating evidence?"

Trip shook his head slowly. "I'm not implying anything. I just didn't see the blood."

"Well, it was there."

"If you say so."

T'Pol stepped in between them before a fight could break out. "Koss," she said, "do you have any idea where the Syrannites might go to hide from the High Command?"

Koss kept his eyes on Trip as he answered. "I can tell you where I would go, were I a Syrannite." He held Trip's gaze a moment longer, then turned slightly at the waist to face T'Pol. "The Forge."

T'Pol nodded shortly. "Then that is where I must go."

She started back towards the house. Trip and Koss glanced at each other, then at T'Pol's retreating back, and then they both trotted after her.

"T'Pol," said Trip, "where are you going?"

She responded without even turning around. "Back to _Enterprise._ I intend to transport to the edge of the Forge. I am going to find my mother."

"You cannot," Koss said. "You must report back to High Command to receive your assignment."

She still didn't turn. "The High Command does not need me, Koss. My mother does. She may very well be an unwilling participant in this, and I do not intend to leave her at the mercy of a group of individuals who have the audacity to break into a sacred temple and steal religious relics."

Trip exhaled slowly, but he couldn't help smiling. T'Pol was back. He glanced at Koss over his shoulder and saw that the Vulcan remained rooted in place. "You coming, or not?"

* * *

Malcolm had watched Trip leave the house, his shoulders sagged in what only could have been described as defeat, and felt an immediate stab of impatience toward Kamea. He knew that the girl was only trying to help – she liked Trip, and she liked T'Pol, and she knew (as the rest of them did) that they belonged together – but she simply did not know where to draw the line. She kept putting all this pressure on Trip to take things to the next level when there really was no next level to go to. Malcolm didn't want to get involved, but he felt as though he had to say something. T'Pol was married; that was probably not going to change any time soon. And as Trip was not the type to sleep with or even chase after married women, Malcolm thought it was in the commander's best interests to move on.

Malcolm gritted his teeth. _Try telling Kamea that,_ he thought. That girl was impossible. While she obviously hadn't inherited that infinite Vulcan patience of T'Pol's, she had apparently gotten that infuriating Vulcan stubbornness and that damn Vulcan pride. She drove him crazy most of the time, parading around as though she was the end-all, be-all of existence, blathering on like an insufferable know-it-all. It was extremely annoying.

He sighed. Annoying or not, Kamea had wedged herself in his head and his heart. Goddamn her for that.

As the others couldn't leave for _Enterprise_ until Trip returned, they were waiting in what Malcolm presumed to be the living room. Archer and Travis had sat down, obviously expecting a long wait. Soval remained standing, watching out the window, though Trip had disappeared out the gate long before. Malcolm and Kamea had retreated to a far side of the room. Well, Malcolm had done most of the retreating, mostly because he wanted to talk to Kamea without the others overhearing.

She was doing her best to not let that happen, it seemed. As soon as he'd led her away from the group, she had turned her back on him, carefully examining everything about the room, from the decorations to the furniture to the floor. She appeared to be taking everything in, and while Malcolm thought it might have something to do with the fact that this was the residence of the aunt that she never knew, he also thought it had more to do with the fact that she knew he wanted to talk to her and she didn't want to talk to him.

Did he mention that she was annoying?

After a while, when it became apparent that Commander Tucker wasn't coming back any time soon, Malcolm had finally had enough. "Kamea."

"Can't talk," she said, her eyes trained on a blanket draped over the arm of a chair in the corner. It looked almost exactly like the blanket she had in her quarters back on _Enterprise_. "Reminiscing."

He narrowed his eyes. "You've never been here before."

She still wouldn't look at him. Her eyes remained fixed on that blanket. She stretched out her hand and ran her fingers along the material almost reverently, the pads of her fingers barely skimming the surface. "What's your point?"

Malcolm rolled his eyes. He could see that reason wasn't going to get him very far. Kamea was one of the most unreasonable people he had ever met. For someone descended from a race that valued logic above everything else, she didn't seem to have too much faith in it. "I think you were a little hard on Commander Tucker."

That made her look at him. Her eyes were a dark, cobalt blue, quite unlike any color he had ever seen before – especially in her eyes. They were bright – never dark. "Excuse me?"

She sounded mad. Not good. When she was angry, she was even more unreasonable. It would be nearly impossible to have a civil conversation with her. At least he'd gotten her to look at him.

Malcolm cleared his throat and automatically tensed his muscles. If she were going to throw him across the room, he wanted to be prepared for it. "I think you're a little too involved in his 'relationship' with T'Pol." He put as much emphasis as possible on the word "relationship".

He expected her to deny it, or immediately launch into some drawn-out explanation as to how she knew everything and people would be better off if they listened to her from the start, as she was apt to do when it turned out that she was right. She succeeded in surprising him, however, when she said, "So what if I am?"

His jaw dropped, and he stood there, momentarily stunned – and openmouthed – for a good moment or two before he could manage to string two words together. "It really isn't any of your business."

She snorted. "I know that."

Malcolm clenched his jaw so tightly that it hurt. If she knew she was overstepping her bounds, then she should have known to keep her nose out of the commanders' business. Because she apparently didn't see what this whole situation was doing to either of them, and if she did, she didn't seem to care. "Then perhaps you should stay out of it."

The look that suddenly crossed Kamea's face made him wish he'd just kept his big mouth shut. He tensed again. "You," she said, in a voice that could only be construed as a snarl, "have no idea what you're talking about."

Malcolm took a deep breath and once again ignored good sense by continuing, despite the fact that Kamea looked as though she would like nothing better than to rip his head off. And she could do it, too. "Kamea, you're blaming Commander Tucker for a situation that isn't his fault."

Kamea looked positively insulted by the accusation. "I am doing no such thing."

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. She may just kill him for that. "Yes, you are."

She exhaled loudly through her nose and took a step towards him. He flinched automatically. "I have never placed the blame for this whole ridiculous situation on Trip. I would never do that."

"But you are. You keep pushing him to be the one to instigate the discussions – "

"Because," Kamea said sharply, "T'Pol isn't going to do it, and this needs to be resolved."

"Why do they need to have discussions at all? Isn't it completely obvious how they feel about each other?"

Kamea closed her eyes and covered her face with her hands, mumbling something in Hawaiian. Her words were muffled by her hands, so Malcolm couldn't understand what she was saying. When she looked up at him again, her eyes had returned to their normal bright, brilliant blue. "Are we seriously having this conversation again?"

Malcolm raised an eyebrow, belatedly remembering that they had already had this conversation just a few days ago. "Apparently."

_Just what in the hell is her fascination with Commander Tucker?_ She just couldn't seem to let it go, and it was starting to piss Malcolm off. But he continued to humor her and talk about it, because talking with her about Commander Tucker and T'Pol was better than not being with her at all. And she certainly didn't want to talk about anything else.

She rolled her eyes and sighed heavily. "Trip is operating under basic elementary school logic. A guy teases a girl, it means he likes her. Stuff like that."

Malcolm pursed his lips. It made sense. Trip had spent the better part of three years purposely antagonizing T'Pol. Malcolm had always thought that the commander had a crush on the science officer; his behavior proved, which only further illustrated Malcolm's earlier point that actions spoke louder than words. But he was really sick of talking about this. "What's the problem with that?" he asked, more than a little frustrated.

The look Kamea gave him suggested that she thought the answer should have been obvious. "Vulcans don't go to elementary school."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

Kamea rolled her eyes again. It was a wonder they didn't get stuck there. "Actions mean nothing if you don't understand the intent behind them. You keep saying that actions speak louder than words, but not if you don't know what the action is trying to say. And Trip doesn't seem to realize that T'Pol doesn't know. That's why I'm trying to get him to talk to her. Talking, T'Pol gets."

Malcolm fought the urge to go to her. She sounded as though she were on the edge of a nervous breakdown, but he was afraid to get too close. "Kamea, it isn't your responsibility to iron out Commander Tucker and T'Pol's differences."

She clenched her jaw so tightly that he could hear her teeth grinding from where he was standing. "I'm aware of that. I am trying to end this, because quite frankly, I'm going crazy."

Malcolm nodded knowingly. The entire ship was nearly fed up with the will-they-won't-they mentality of Trip and T'Pol's relationship. Months after T'Pol's marriage, rumors were still circulating as to the circumstances surround her sudden nuptials. There was apparently nothing else on _Enterprise_ worth talking about. "I understand how you feel, but Kamea – "

Kamea groaned quite loudly. "You cannot possibly understand how I feel."

Malcolm's patience was wearing thin. He rubbed his temples in what he had hoped would be a soothing manner; it wasn't. "I'm not going to have to suffer through another speech about how no one understands you, am I?"

That was the wrong thing to say. Kamea advanced, lifted him up and shoved him against the wall before he even realized what was happening. He had never seen that fire in her eyes before, that manic glint. It scared him. He tore his eyes away from her and saw that Travis, Soval, and the captain were rushing towards him; they slammed into an invisible barrier a few feet away. Kamea wasn't about to let the two of them be disturbed.

"This is not some 'poor me, my life is so horrible' spiel that teenagers rattle off, thinking that they're misunderstood, Malcolm." She spat out his name like it had burned her tongue. "There is literally no one else like me in this entire universe. You don't know what it's like to be the only one. And it's more than just that, okay? Whatever people are feeling, I feel. So when someone is walking around the ship, miserable, it makes me miserable. I don't like feeling miserable. So forgive me for wanting to do something about it." She let go of his shirt, and he slid to the floor. "I didn't realize I was bothering you so much."

Malcolm didn't know what to say. He'd known, of course, that she could read minds, but he had no idea that her abilities were so strong. "_Kaumaha,_ Kamea. I had no idea – "

She grunted and collapsed to the ground beside him. "Oh, _kulikuli_. Of course you had no idea. You couldn't possibly."

He was sick of her saying that. He didn't understand what it was like for her because she wouldn't tell him. She didn't tell him anything. She'd only just started telling him about her dreams, and she'd been having those for months. He wanted to understand. "Okay, so I have no idea. Help me, then. Make me understand."

Kamea looked at him – really looked at him, like that first fateful look in sickbay. She looked like she was sizing him up, trying to ascertain just how serious he was. She raised her eyebrows. "Do you mean that?"

He nodded emphatically. "You know I do."

She stared at him for a long minute, then stretched out her hand. Soval crossed the room in three quick strides and grabbed her wrist.

"Kamea," said Soval, "you cannot do that."

"_Glantau,_"Kamea said, and she barely spared Soval a glance before wrenching her arm free of his grip. In one swift movement, she had her hand on Malcolm's face – her thumb on his chin, her index and middle fingers on his temple and by his ear. His skin burned where she touched him; his heart rate automatically sped up.

"Malcolm," she said, "_kālele ia'u_."

For a moment, nothing happened, and though he loved the feeling of her fingers on his face, he was starting to feel awkward, considering that the captain, Travis, and the Vulcan ambassador were staring at them. He opened his mouth to say something when suddenly his spine went rigid. Pain shot through his limbs – pain quite unlike anything he'd ever experienced, and he'd been tortured. He may have cried out, he couldn't be certain, but after a minute his body went numb, as though he was becoming accustomed to the pain. As soon as the pain receded, he was bombarded with a barrage of emotions. He couldn't identify any of the emotions, and it was crippling him. He literally could not move. He was pretty sure he was trying to move his arms, but they just wouldn't obey. He couldn't focus on anything except the tidal wave of emotions crashing through him. He tried to take a deep breath, tried to clear his mind, but he couldn't. He wasn't used to doing this, he wasn't use to dealing with this; how could anyone deal with this on a regular basis?

Slowly, very slowly, the emotions separated, and he was able to identify them. There was confusion, frustration, resentment, apprehension, and about a dozen others, zipping through his head so fast that he was surprised he could recognize them at all. Eventually, they all disappeared, and he was infused with a sense of calm – but it was a forced calm, unnatural, someone trying to be calm but who couldn't quite get a handle on it.

There was a bright flash behind his eyelids, and he was standing in a large, white room. He glanced around and found Kamea sitting there.

"Kamea," he said, and he was surprised to discover that his voice echoed, "what's going on?"

She looked up at him from her place on what he assumed was the floor, almost demurely. "_Kash-nohv_." She must have sensed his confusion, because she smiled softly. "It's a mind-meld. You wanted to understand. This is me helping you understand." She gestured at the floor with her head. "Have a seat."

Malcolm did not have a seat. He remained where he was. "This is a mind-meld?" It wasn't how he imagined a mind-meld. Of course, he really had no idea what a mind-meld was supposed to be like.

He really did have no idea what it was like to be her.

"Is this what it's like for you every day?" he asked.

She continued to stare at him; her eyes bored into his soul. "Every minute I'm awake."

He swallowed hard. "And when you're asleep?"

She blinked dolefully at him. "I dream."

Malcolm struggled to get his breathing under control. "About what?"

The voice that answered did not belong to Kamea. "About me."


	11. Kash nohv

**A/N: Man, I just am not in the mood to write lately. I have all these ideas and no motivation. Also, it's hard to give the people what they want and still take this story in the direction I wanted it to go. So I have to do a little tweaking, and all of you may not agree with it or like it, but it's my story, so there you go.**

**_Kash-nohv:_ mind-meld**

**_Makua kane:_ father**

**_Sa-mekh:_ father**

**_Ko-fu:_ daughter**

**_Kanapapiki:_ son of a bitch**

**I had intended for this chapter to be longer, with this whole big huge discussion between Trip, T'Pol, Malcolm, and Kamea, but I rather liked the idea of just keeping it with Malcolm and Kamea. I think it turned out nicely, if I do say so myself. And if you don't like it, well, tough noogies, because the relationship between Kamea and Malcolm is the reason I continue this series. **

**But I intend to torture you a while longer. At least until the next story. Ha ha ha ha.**

**As always, reviews are appreciated.**

**

* * *

Chapter Eleven: _Kash-nohv_**

The man standing before Malcolm could only be one person. Even if he hadn't seen pictures of him, he would have known who he was. The resemblance to Kamea was uncanny – the same facial structure, the same nose and cheekbones, and the same piercing eyes that were the same unnatural blue. Lorian stood stiff and alert, hands clasped behind his back in what had to be the traditional Vulcan stance, since every Vulcan Malcolm had ever met always seemed to stand like that. Except Kamea, who looked about as relaxed as a person could be in a situation like this. And while her face was full of life and expression, Lorian's face was stoic, but his eyes were searching – scrutinizing Malcolm the way a father would survey a man traipsing around his daughter's consciousness. And as Malcolm had never been traipsing around a girl's consciousness before, he wasn't sure what to expect.

Kamea, still seated on the imaginary floor in front of him, used her hand to gesture back and forth between the two men. "Malcolm, this is my father. _Makua kane_, this is Malcolm. Malcolm, Dad. Dad, Malcolm."

Lorian turned his stare on his daughter. "I have asked you repeatedly not to call me by that word."

She rolled her eyes, and Malcolm could feel the irritation she was feeling, almost as if it were his own. But there was a playful undercurrent in her tone when she said, "Why do you think I continue to do so?"

Oddly enough, Malcolm could also feel Lorian's frustration, which he found odd. Feeling Kamea's emotions, he could understand. Apparently, he was in her head. But how could he be feeling Lorian's emotions, when Lorian had been dead nearly a decade? Despite his frustration, it was with an unbelievable amount of love that Lorian said, "When I was your age, children respected their parents."

Kamea smiled with her eyes but not her lips. "When you were my age, _sa-mekh_, a lot of things were different."

"Indeed," Lorian said, and he brought his gaze back to Malcolm's. Malcolm flinched automatically. "For instance, women did not meld with men to whom they were not betrothed."

At this, Kamea stood, and any playfulness was gone from her voice. "You're the last person to lecture a girl on tradition." She stepped between Malcolm and her father. "He wanted to know what it was like to be me. Such an explanation defies conventional description. This was the only way."

"It was illogical."

Kamea cocked an eyebrow. "Based on whose idea of logic? Logic is a relative concept." She smirked and pointed a finger at her father. "I believe you taught me that."

"Kamea," Malcolm said, and Kamea turned to face him, "when you said your father was in your head, I didn't realize you meant literally."

She nodded. "I know. That's one of the reasons I pulled you in here. I didn't feel I could accurately explain it to you, and I need for you to believe me." Doubt washed through her so quickly that it almost knocked him over. "You do believe me, don't you?"

Malcolm pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. "How exactly does something like this happen?"

It was Lorian that explained. "It is called the _fal-tor-plak_ – the transferring of one person's _katra_ to another."

Malcolm remembered Kamea having said that when they first arrived on Vulcan. At the time, he hadn't thought anything of it. "Soval said that it was impossible."

Lorian's eyes darkened, the way Kamea's often did when she was angry. "Soval says a great many things."

"Actually," said Kamea, "it was T'Pol who said that. So, apparently, you tape everything I say, but you don't remember anything anyone else says."

Malcolm chose to ignore that. "But how – "

Kamea looked up at him, her eyes pleading. "I told you that my father touched my face before he died – the same way I touched yours, just now. He melded with me, passed his soul into me."

Malcolm fought back the bile that was threatening to rise in his throat. The whole thing sounded sexual, and the fact that this was her father she was talking about just made everything worse. She must have sensed what he was thinking, because a dark flushed tinged the apples of her cheeks and the tips of her ears. She shook her head fiercely.

"Why?" Malcolm asked. The question was directed at Lorian, but he kept his eyes on Kamea.

She blinked slowly. "To torture me is my best guess."

Lorian cleared his throat in an irritated fashion, the way T'Pol always did. "I wanted to protect you. To remind you of who you are."

She rolled her eyes and shot him a thumbs up. "Great job, Dad."

"Please do not call me that."

"Or you'll what?" Kamea asked. "Ground me?"

"These dreams you've been having," Malcolm said loudly, trying to direct the conversation back on course, because he was still confused as hell, "aren't really dreams, then?"

Once again, it was Lorian that answered. "They are my memories. I pass them to Kamea while she sleeps and is most susceptible to them. I feel it is important that she have all the facts."

"About what?" Malcolm asked.

Lorian's eyebrows shot into his hair. He seemed surprised by the question. "About who she is. She is…different."

Malcolm bit his tongue and fought the urge to roll his eyes. "I hadn't noticed."

Kamea lifted the corners of her mouth in the barest hint of a smile. "A girl likes to be noticed, you know."

Lorian turned to face his daughter, and though it was not obvious in his expression or his stance, Malcolm could tell that the Vulcan was angry with her. "You have proven your point, _ko-fu_. You must stop this at once."

Confusion was a state of mind to which Malcolm was rapidly becoming accustomed. The more time he spent in Kamea's company, the more confused he seemed to get. This was no exception.

Kamea's eyes were hard as she stared at her father. If Malcolm hadn't already known that Kamea had issues with her father, this entire conversation would have clinched it. "I'm well aware of the risks."

Lorian pursed his lips. "Yet you do not seem to care."

"When did I ever care about the risks?"

"It is that attitude that constantly got you into trouble."

Kamea snorted and brought her hand up to her mouth, as though she were using a communicator. "Hello, kettle? This is Lorian. You're black."

Lorian sighed heavily. "I realize that I am not the best example of – "

"Dad," Kamea said, putting a great deal of emphasis on the word, since he obviously didn't like it when she called him that, "I know what I'm doing."

"But you don't," said Lorian. "You have never done this before. And the longer you hold the connection, the greater the chance that you will – "

Malcolm looked from father to daughter and back again. He had seen a lot of things in his four years on _Enterprise_, but this was definitely a first. He could honestly say that he had never been in anyone's mind before. It was disconcerting, to say the least. If he could feel what Kamea was feeling, then surely she could feel what he was feeling, and if that were true… Malcolm desperately attempted to stifle every impure thought he'd ever had about her, lest she – or, God forbid, her father – discover his true feelings towards her.

Kamea and her father stopped their argument and exchanged a look as Malcolm went rigid, his body so tense that his muscles were literally aching with the effort of maintaining that position.

"It's okay, Malcolm," Kamea said. She reached out to touch his arm but he snatched it away before her fingers could come into contact with his skin. With the three of them trapped in this bizarre convergent dream, the last thing he needed was for her to touch him. He'd lose it. But moving his arm away from her was obviously not the right move, because she looked hurt by the action, and she felt hurt, too, and then there was anger, which seemed to be coming from Lorian.

"I didn't mean…" Malcolm said, but he couldn't finish that sentence. He didn't know how.

He backed away from the both of them, his hands covering his face. This was all too much. There was no way that one person could handle all of this. It was impossible; it was insane. How did Kamea deal with this on a daily basis and not go completely crazy?

"It gets easier," Kamea said, and if the hurt hadn't been evident in her voice he still would have known. It was that palpable. "And it does make you crazy." She gave him a small smile, one that didn't quite touch her eyes. "Why do you think I act the way I do?"

He spread his fingers so as to peek through the gaps. "Because you're crazy?"

This time her smile was genuine. "Everyone's crazy, Malcolm. I'm just not as good at hiding it." She paused and took a step closer to him. "Now take your hands off your face."

He slowly lowered his hands, and in an instant, the white room dissolved into a beach scene. He looked around, unable to believe his eyes. They seemed to be standing on a deserted island, because there were no signs of civilization anywhere nearby. No houses, no people, nothing. Just the white sand, the palm trees, and the ocean – which was the same color blue as Kamea's eyes. It was so real that Malcolm could almost taste the salt in the air.

Lorian, he noticed, had also disappeared.

Malcolm raised his eyebrows. "Impressive," he said, turning to face Kamea. But she was no longer standing beside him. She was at the water's edge, already removing her shoes and rolling up her pant legs. "Kamea?" He moved hesitantly to stand by her side, attempting to avoid the water at all costs. "Where are we?"

Kamea looked at him as though the answer should have been obvious; and maybe, if Malcolm were better at sorting through the barrage of thoughts streaming through his brain, it would have been obvious. She gestured at the ocean with a sweep of her arm. "Home." She waded into the water. "You want to know how I deal? This is how I deal. I come home."

"Where's your father?" Though Malcolm was personally glad that Lorian was no longer there. It was starting to freak him out.

She dismissed the question with a wave of her hand. "I shoved him back into my subconscious. He was getting on my nerves."

"Besides," she continued as she walked further into the water, "he makes it a lot harder for me to focus." She waded until she was waist deep. The force of the waves kept knocking her backwards, but it didn't seem to bother her. She spread her arms and threw back her head, staring at the sky.

None of this made any sense to Malcolm. "How does this help you deal?"

She looked at him. Her face shone with a light he'd never seen on her before. The breeze kicked up and whipped her hair around her face like a thing possessed. She was…intoxicating. Radiant. Beautiful. Like nothing he'd ever seen. The way she was staring at him, the look in her eyes, he would have done anything that she asked of him in that moment. So when she held out her hand to him and beckoned him closer, he went without hesitation. It wasn't until the water was up to his knees that he realized what he was doing.

He froze. His heart stopped beating, and his entire body seized up with panic. He couldn't even breathe. He was afraid of water, what the hell was he doing here? And she knew he was afraid of water, why the hell had she asked him to join her?

Kamea walked towards him, unaffected by the motion of the water. She reached up and gently placed her hands on the back of his neck, twining her fingers in the hairs at the nape. "Breathe, Malcolm. You need to breathe."

He stared at her with wide eyes. She was saying something. What was she saying? He had no idea. He was in the process of going absolutely crazy.

She quirked an eyebrow at him. "You do remember how to breathe, right?"

He took a deep breath and shakily let it out. He completely forgot about the water, concentrating instead on the fact that Kamea's hands were on his neck, that her face was inches from his. Even though he couldn't see her, he could feel her, like she was a part of him. He could feel her breath, warm on his face. He could practically feel her heartbeat.

This was a bad idea. This was a very bad idea. But there was no force on Earth strong enough to drag him away from her.

"Just focus on the sound of the water," she said, applying the barest amount of pressure to the nape of his neck. "Don't pay attention to anything else – just the water and the wind." She kept one hand on the back of his neck but moved the other to the junction of his neck and his shoulder blades, applying gentle pressure there as well. "You've been on a starship for months. It's stuffy, confined. It's a tin can with an engine. I don't know why more of you guys aren't claustrophobic."

He wanted to laugh, but his body wouldn't let him. He was still practically frozen in place. Instead, he took another shaky breath.

Kamea took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, lightly blowing on the shell of his ear as she did so. He shivered in spite of himself. Damn that woman. "Smell the air, feel the sun and the water… I know you don't like water but bear with me."

Malcolm had to admit, he was feeling more relaxed, even with Kamea inches from his body. How that was possible, he would never know.

"Breathe in, breathe out." He did as instructed, and Kamea continued. "When I was a kid, I couldn't get to sleep unless I could hear the ocean. It's one of the reasons I hated MIT. Too far away from the water. I had to have one of those white noise machines – drove my roommates nuts. Of course, none of them really liked me anyway."

Malcolm tried to imagine what it must have been like for Kamea while she was growing up and couldn't even begin to picture it. He was teased mercilessly as a child because he refused to go swimming with all the other kids. To be different in the way that Kamea was different – the only one of her kind anywhere in the entire universe – must have made for a very lonely childhood. How she had grown into such a sociable, well-adjusted, amazing, incredible, beautiful woman was nothing short of remarkable.

"Their loss," he said.

There was laughter in her voice when she responded. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Lieutenant."

Malcolm continued to take deep breaths, concentrating on the sound of the waves and the rustle of the wind, the warmth of the sun and the coolness of the water, in which he was now waist deep. He kept his eyes closed; it helped him to concentrate. "You really grew up here?"

"Not here," Kamea said, and she applied some more pressure with her fingertips. "This isn't real. But it's my memory of the cove where I did grow up. It's about as secluded as you can possibly get. My dad wasn't big on having neighbors, you know." She sighed. "We had a house at the back of the cove, cliffs on three sides, palm trees in the backyard. My bedroom windows looked out on the water. Walk out the front door and you were right on the beach. Sit on the roof and you could see every star in the sky."

"Do you miss it?"

He could feel the sadness in her voice even though it wasn't evident in her tone. "Every day."

The hand on the back of his neck moved to his other shoulder, while the hand already on his shoulder moved to his chest, just above his heart, which unfortunately began to beat faster. He had to ask. "What are you doing?"

He felt her shrug. "Neuro-pressure."

His eyes flew open, but her face was blurry. She couldn't come into focus, she was so close to him, staring up at him, smiling that smile that drove him crazy. This was neuro-pressure? This was what Commander Tucker and T'Pol had been doing, locked in T'Pol's quarters every night? Now he could see why the commander got so defensive when Malcolm made comments about it.

He finally found his voice. "I thought you hated neuro-pressure."

"I never said I hated it," she said matter-of-factly. "I just don't want it done to me. There's a difference."

A fairly powerful wave pushed them backwards, nearly knocking them over. Malcolm's hands automatically came around her waist to steady her, but it didn't do any good. She lost her balance and toppled, dragging him down with her. As always seemed to happen with the two of them, she ended up on her back and he landed on top of her. She was pressed up against him, and he thanked God for the cold water, because it would have been extremely embarrassing for a certain part of his anatomy to reveal what he was really feeling – but she had to know he was feeling it, because he could feel her arousal as easily as he could feel his own. Hell, she was so turned on he could practically taste it. She wanted him as badly as he wanted her, and that changed everything.

If he didn't kiss her soon, he was going to explode.

Unfortunately – or fortunately, depending on who was asked – he didn't get the opportunity. She gently pushed him off of her and slid out from underneath him, scrambling up the shore in a warped kind of crab walk until she was completely out of the water. He remained where he was, still using his arms to support his weight, though they were straining with the effort. But he didn't dare move. He didn't go after her, because this could fast turn into something they would both regret.

Although, would it even be real? After all, they weren't really on a beach, they were in Kamea's mind. So if anything happened between them, would it really be happening?

"See?" she said, breathless. "I told you it gets easier."

"Kamea," he said, allowing his voice to trail off. He wasn't sure how to continue that sentence, but he knew that they had to talk about this. They just couldn't let something like this go, not with the situation they were facing. He could barely control himself on _Enterprise_, when there were other people around and when he hadn't been aware of her feelings. How the hell was he going to be able to hold himself back when they were alone in T'Les's house and he knew she felt the same?

He felt rather than saw her tense. "Do you feel that?" she asked.

He felt something, that was for certain, but he was so inexperienced with this entire concept that he never would have been able to identify what exactly he was feeling.

"_Kanapapiki_," Kamea said, and the beach dissolved.

Malcolm felt like he was being ripped from his body, when in reality he was being returned to it. He felt himself get thrown backwards, and when he opened his eyes he found that he was once again on the floor of T'Les's main sitting room, only he was on his back and several feet away from his previous position. Kamea lay a few feet in front of him, rubbing her head gingerly from where she'd obviously hit it on a table.

For a moment, they lay in silence, staring at each other. Malcolm was positive he could still feel her in his brain.

"Kamea," he said, but he again got no further than that.

She shook her head and smacked herself hard in the temple. "That re-entry's a bitch."


	12. Into the Forge

**A/N: Did I come off as pissed in my last A/N? Not my intention. Please allow me to clarify. I am not angry at any of you guys. Y'ins are awesome. Seriously. You have no idea how much it means to me that you all not only read my stories but actually like them, too, and I love that you guys review. Please don't stop reviewing. I am frustrated with myself for my lack of motivation, because I just can't figure out what I'm doing. I'm working on it, I swear. In the meantime, please keep reading, and please keep reviewing. Only, maybe not such long ones. :)**

**The story has been moving too slowly for my taste. I will try to pick things up a bit and get the story going. As such, please forgive the abruptness of this chapter, how it quickly jumps the way it does.**

**Also, in an attempt to make myself update more often, the chapters will be shorter. Sorry about that.**

**Flashbacks are in italics.**

**_Kokame:_ god damn**

**'_Oe 'iko 'ole:_ You know nothing.**

**

* * *

Chapter Twelve: Into the Forge**

It was settled. T'Pol was going to the Forge.

Trip would accompany her.

There had been a long and bitter argument. Both Archer and Soval disagreed with the decision, and though they tried their damnedest to convince their officers to change their minds, there was little either could say to talk the two out of it. T'Pol would do whatever was necessary to find her mother, and Trip was not about to let T'Pol out of his sight. He was not going to let her get away; he was not going to give Koss the opportunity to even plant the suggestion that he wanted her to remain permanently on Vulcan.

In the end, Trip and T'Pol's unbelievable stubbornness had won out. The group – minus Malcolm, Kamea, and Koss, of course – had returned to _Enterprise_, where Trip and T'Pol were beamed down to the edge of the desert, just outside the Forge.

Trip stared at the massive desert before them. The sun was already beating down on his back, the heat unbearable, even though he'd changed into his desert gear. Both he and T'Pol were equipped with provisions for the journey, but T'Pol warned them that they would most likely run out of both food and water before they reached their destination.

His mind strayed in the one direction in which he did not want it to go – his conversation with Kamea before returning to _Enterprise_. She and Malcolm had been locked in some kind of mind-meld when he, T'Pol, and Koss got back to the house, but when they came out of it, Kamea had much to say on his decision to accompany T'Pol.

"_This is insanity," Kamea said, after she had unceremoniously dragged Trip out into the courtyard. Her hand still gripped his arm – quite painfully – as the others watched from the windows. "You can't seriously be considering this. Have you gone completely insane?"_

_Trip was confused. Hadn't Kamea been the one encouraging him to talk to T'Pol, get things settled? This excursion to find her mother was the perfect opportunity. They would be alone, with no interference – from Koss, from Kamea. And once they found T'Les, she could convince her daughter of Trip's feelings and intentions. T'Les was a sharp old girl. She had recognized Trip's sacrifice for what it was, all those months ago._

"_I thought you wanted me to talk to T'Pol," he said. "Now's my chance."_

"_Talk to her, yes," Kamea said. She still had a death-grip on his arm. "Work things out. Get rid of some of this anger, this tension, that is driving me insane and preventing me from getting any semblance of rest as long as I'm stuck in that steel can. But you can't seriously expect to be able to accomplish anything out there in the Forge. You'll be lucky if you even survive that _kokame _desert."_

"_Steel can?" Trip bristled automatically at her characterization of _Enterprise._ "You can't say that about my ship."_

_Kamea let go of his arm, but not without dragging her nails along the sensitive skin of his forearm, leaving matching red welts. "She's married, Trip." She said it without unkindness, but the words stung just the same. "This isn't going to change that."_

_Trip clenched his jaw so painfully that his teeth hurt. "You wanted me to talk to her."_

_Kamea's eyes were angry slits, the color a blazing blue that seemed to darken before his very eyes. "Do you want me to admit that I was wrong? Fine. You were right. I was wrong. I bow in humble deference to your wisdom. Is that what you want to hear?"_

_He laughed in spite of himself. She looked like she was ready to kill him, especially when he said, "Never thought I'd live to hear a Vulcan admit she was wrong."_

_Kamea bared her teeth in a very unladylike snarl. "You're making a mistake. This will solve nothing. It will only exacerbate the situation." She exhaled loudly through her nose, her nostrils flared in anger. "No good can come of this."_

"_That's where you're wrong," Trip said, not quite understanding what had Kamea so upset. "This will solve everything. T'Pol will understand just how much I care about her, and – "_

"_And what?" Kamea asked. "Will going into the Forge with her magically make her not married? It doesn't change a damn thing, Trip, and you're a fool if you think otherwise."_

_Trip caught her gaze and held it, refusing to even blink for fear it would come off as a sign of weakness. Getting into a verbal sparring match with Kamea was like facing down an angry bull. There was no good way to do it. "I know what I'm doing."_

"'Oe 'ike 'ole,_" Kamea said with a snort. "I hope you enjoy misery, Commander. You are going to be feeling it for a very long time."_

_She turned to walk back into the house, and Trip had no idea what possessed him to say what he said next. Maybe he was angry that she had called him a fool, insulted his ship, belittled his chances of winning back T'Pol. Whatever the reason, the words that came out of his mouth seemed to tumble off his tongue of their own volition. "You know, Kamea, you're too uptight. Your panties are all in a bunch, and Malcolm obviously isn't up to the task of untangling them."_

_What happened next happened so fast that it was a blur. In one swift motion, Kamea had rounded on him, closed the small gap between them, reared back, and slapped him across the face. His face stung, and he could tell that the welt blooming on his cheek would be a nasty shade of red. But that was nothing compared to the look in Kamea's overly expressive eyes._

_They were fire; twin balls of blue flame that sparked with an intensity Trip had known she possessed but rarely ever seen. But beneath the fire was something very real, very powerful, and very unusual – for Kamea, at least. There was pain. Gut-wrenching pain. Something Trip had said, something in his accusation, had hurt her. _

_As she turned and ran into the house, he thought he caught a glimpse of tears in her eyes. But Vulcans didn't cry._

Trip shook his head to clear the image and did his best to fight down the feelings associated with that memory, but he must have been doing a poor job of it, because T'Pol noticed his inner battle.

"You are concerned with how you left things with Kamea," she said. Trip cursed her perceptiveness. It bugged him.

He sighed and shook his head. "I shouldn't have said that to her. It was uncalled for."

T'Pol ducked her head, avoiding his gaze. "Soval informed me that Kamea initiated a _kash-nohv_ with Lieutenant Reed. A mind-meld," she said, obviously having seen the confusion in his eyes. "They have a way of…bringing emotions to the surface. I believe that, when she confronted you, she was still struggling to get her emotions under control. She may have spoken without pausing to consider what she was saying."

He knew what she was trying to do. She was telling him that Kamea had also said things that she hadn't meant; she was attempting to justify his reaction. "Still doesn't give me the right to say those things to her."

"Indeed. But I am certain that Kamea will understand the circumstances. She is a bright girl."

Trip licked his lips; they were already becoming chapped from the dry desert air. "She said we'd be lucky to survive this place. You think that's true?"

T'Pol met his gaze, her dark eyes sparkling. "Perhaps it is true of you. After all, you and the desert are hardly on good terms."

He let out a great barking laugh, remembering his last disastrous journey across a desert. If not for the captain, he might not have made it through. He'd been pretty out of it by the time _Enterprise_ had managed to find them.

"We'd best be going," T'Pol said, beginning her descent into the Forge. "The longer we linger, the greater chance of being discovered."

Trip followed her down the rocky embankment and into the Forge.

* * *

T'Pol knew she should have been concentrating on what she had to do to successfully navigate the Forge, but she could not stop thinking about the last thing Kamea had said to her before she and the others had returned to _Enterprise_.

_T'Pol had watched in stunned amazement as something Trip said made Kamea slap him across the face. It wasn't the light, playful slaps Kamea often gave the commander. She had put all of her strength into it; a blotchy red patch was already blossoming on his cheek. It would be a bruise within a day. T'Pol also watched as Kamea stormed back into the house. Malcolm immediately moved to follow her as Kamea marched past the assembled group on her way down the hall to the bedrooms. T'Pol followed as well, and as she approached her cousin, Kamea turned to face her._

"_End this now, cousin," Kamea said. Her eyes were shining with unshed tears, and T'Pol was speechless at the depths of emotion in her bottomless blue eyes. The tears, she knew, were not a result of the wind. "End this or I will. That you have let this atrocity continue for as long as it has is unacceptable. As Surak as my witness, this ends now."_

_Kamea then turned and continued her trek down the hall, Malcolm at her heels. A moment later, the door slammed. The vibrations from the force of the slam shook the windows and rattled the decorations on the wall._

_T'Pol could only stare after her cousin, even after Trip entered the house._

She felt the peculiar sensation of guilt gnawing at the back of her stomach. Kamea had called the situation an atrocity, and T'Pol knew that there was some truth to her statement. T'Pol had not only knowingly bonded with Trip, but done so without his knowledge. She had intended to tell him while they were on Vulcan, but when she learned of her mother's disgrace, that marriage to Koss was the only way to save T'Les's career, all her intentions had disappeared. She meant to have the bond severed before the ceremony, but she could not bring herself to break the connection she shared with Commander Tucker. It was selfish of her to cling to the bond, but there was little she could do about it now. She had hoped that it would fade, that the bond she shared with Koss would take precedence in her brain, but apparently her continued close contact with Trip was having the opposite affect. The bond was strengthening, to the point where Trip knew that something was going on. He just did not know what.

He was determined to find out, she knew. He had asked Kamea multiple times. Kamea had simply informed him to ask T'Pol, something which he had not done. Perhaps he knew that T'Pol would never tell him what he so desperately wanted to hear. She knew she should tell him; she owed him that much. But she was ashamed. Her behavior was indefensible.

What would her father think of her, if he knew what she had done? The idea of his disappointment was almost too much to bear. Kamea was right. T'Pol had to end this. She would have to sever the bond that she and Trip shared. It was the right thing to do. It was the logical thing to do.

Trip's voice startled her out of her reverie. "Penny for your thoughts," he said.

She looked over at him. He was panting with the effort of keeping her pace. Distracted, not thinking clearly, she had forgotten that he was not accustomed to the climate as she was. She slowed her pace to a leisurely walk. It would take longer to find her mother with him slowing her down, but she was glad for the company. Also, it would give her the opportunity to put and end to this situation, once and for all. One way or another.

"I was just considering our options," she said, which could not be exactly construed as a lie. "I think it is better to travel during the day. The heat is much more oppressive, but it would be best to take shelter at night. The creatures in the Forge are ones which we most certainly want to avoid."

His eyes widened imperceptibly. "What kind of creatures?"

T'Pol met his gaze. "Hostile ones."

He sighed. "Goody." He looked away briefly, his eyes scanning the horizon, before bringing his attention back to her. "You're sure that's all you were thinking about?"

T'Pol did her best to look confused. "What else would I be thinking about?"

He narrowed his eyes at her, as though trying to determine the truthfulness of her statement. Knowing he could sense her emotions, she forced her mind to remain calm, removed all traces of unease from her brain, and quirked an eyebrow at him. Finally, he shrugged. "All right, then. We'd better get moving again, yeah?"

She nodded. "Yes. We had better."

This time Trip set the pace as they marched deeper into the Forge.

* * *

Kamea lay on the bed in the spare bedroom, curled in a fetal position, her eyes aimed at one of the many wall decorations without clearly seeing it. She struggled to fight down the massive surge of guilt she felt at the knowledge that Trip was blindly following T'Pol into the Forge partly based on her suggestion. If either of them were hurt or killed during their search, Kamea would feel eternally responsible, and she was rather sick of having other people's blood on her hands. It didn't come clean as easily as some people liked to think.

T'Pol was the only family she had left – with the exception of Soval, whom Kamea didn't really include. Trip was one of her closest friends. Now it felt as though their fates were in her hands, that she had sent them off to die because she couldn't handle the strain that their lack of a relationship was placing on her psyche. How selfish of her, to think that forcing them to come to a solution to their problem for her benefit would do any good. She was putting her needs, her desires, ahead of what was best for all involved. Perhaps it was causing her undue stress, but ignoring the situation seemed to work for Trip and T'Pol. She should have just let well enough alone, let them make a decision in due time, under natural circumstances.

There was an unpleasant lurch somewhere in the vicinity of her heart. Why did everyone she cared about have to suffer simply because she existed? The universe would be much better off if she were not around. She once again wished that the Andorians had killed her when they had the chance.

She barely heard the door open behind her, her eyes trained on the wall before her, her mind lost in some alternate reality where there was an ocean, a surfboard, and ten-foot waves. She hardly noticed the extra weight shifting the mattress as Malcolm crawled into bed beside her. But she was acutely aware of his arms snaking around her waist and pulling her flush against his chest. She heard every word as he whispered in her ear.

"It's all right, Kamea," he said, for once not bothering to speak Hawaiian. "I'm here."

His breath was warm, and it tickled her ear. His touch was hot, and it caused goosebumps to dot her flesh. His presence was calming, and it pissed her off. She didn't deserve to be calm. She deserved to suffer.

But he was lightly stroking her upper arm with his thumb, and she could feel her suffering melting away with every touch.

Her eyes burned with tears, and this time she let them fall. She cried until there were no more tears left to shed, and Malcolm held her to him the entire time. She didn't deserve to be treated so tenderly. She didn't deserve this at all.

Sleep, for once, came as a blessing.


	13. Under the Microscope

**A/N: I suck. I'm sorry. I just wanted you guys to know that. Stuff is going on with me right now, and life is going crazy. Also, I'm moving in a few days, so again, it may be a while before I can update again. I appreciate you guys staying with me. It means a lot.**

**Of course stuff is going to be taken out of canon. You'll see what I'm talking about when you get to, oh, the second paragraph.**

**I don't know if I ever mentioned this in the series before, but Kamea's last name is Ululani. It was her mother's last name.**

**_Gol'nevsu:_ aide**

**_Na'shaya:_ greeting**

**

* * *

Chapter Thirteen: Under the Microscope**

The girl had come in willingly, accompanied by the human lieutenant who had insisted that he be present for her examination. The girl attempted to convince him that it was not necessary that he observe, but in true human fashion, he refused to yield. The girl had reluctantly agreed that he could stay. She did ask that he close his eyes when she asked, so that he would not see anything inappropriate. It was refreshing to see that the girl, at least, had some sense of propriety.

Sarek watched the examination with great interest. He had been surprised and a little suspicious when V'Las had asked him to observe – Sarek was new to the High Command, a _gol'nevsu_. He had only been working at the High Command a week. Sarek suspected that V'Las had ulterior motives behind the invitation. He suspected the administrator wanted to ensure his silence.

He had been present when the crew of the _Enterprise_ touched down outside the city. He had heard the claims leveled at Soval and V'Las by the young girl, and though he was reluctant to believe her, he could not help but wonder if what she claimed was the truth.

So he had done his research. He had looked as far back into the records as possible. He had dug up every bit of information that existed on Kamea Ululani. The only medical records were those of her birth; she had either never been sick or injured or her parents had been reluctant to take her to a hospital for fear their secret would be discovered. The girl was a certifiable genius – a whiz with machinery. Her acceptance into the Massachusetts Institute of Technology seemingly guaranteed her a fast track to Starfleet. But she had never been accepted. Sarek had managed to procure the evaluations, including the recommendation of the admissions board, and the only logical conclusion at which he could arrive was that someone had interfered.

Sarek raised his eyes to Kamea. She sat on the edge of a biobed, her expression deflated. She did everything the physicians asked of her, but she did so robotically, as though simply going through the motions. She sat patiently as they drew vial after vial of blood for analysis, as they took sample after sample of her hair, nails, and epithelials. They poked and prodded her, and all the while, she simply sat there, allowing it.

The young Vulcan raised his eyebrows, impressed.

Eventually, Sarek made his way over to the lieutenant, who was watching the entire process with a stony glare. Sarek could tell from the way his muscles twitched that he was clenching his jaw. He was intrigued by their whole relationship. In fact, the whole idea of human relationships fascinated him, and from what he could tell, the two of them were quite close. Perhaps even intimately involved; a logical conclusion, given the ferocity of the lieutenant's reaction to some of the questioning.

T'Mun did a majority of the "interview" – though interrogation was a more accurate term. The others no doubt believed that the girl would be more amenable to answering their questions if it was a woman doing the asking. Sarek could not tell if that was the case; he sensed that Kamea would have done anything they asked just to get out of this entire situation. However, some of the questions were extremely personal – about Kamea's previous sexual encounters. The lieutenant did not look pleased with her responses.

When it was time to do a gynecological exam, the girl looked at the lieutenant for the first time since being brought into the room. Her eyes were pleading, and she said only one word. "Malcolm."

The lieutenant obediently turned and faced the opposite direction. Sarek stood beside him, facing the wall as well.

"You are Lieutenant Reed, yes?" Sarek asked.

The lieutenant looked at him, his eyes confused. "Yes."

Had Sarek been human, he would have smiled. "My name is Sarek. I would shake your hand, but we do not do that."

The lieutenant grunted a laugh, but there was little mirth behind it.

Sarek gestured at Kamea with his head. "She is quite an enigma, your young lady."

The lieutenant shook his head. "She isn't exactly young. And she isn't my lady."

Sarek quirked an eyebrow. "I was mistaken, then."

There was a whimper behind them, and the lieutenant twitched visibly, seemingly fighting a battle with himself. It appeared as though he was trying very hard not to turn around to check on Kamea's welfare. Sarek's second eyebrow joined the first. "It is the examination," he said. "From what I understand, it is quite…uncomfortable."

The lieutenant rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. "Those chairs in your conference room are uncomfortable. I can't even begin to imagine what it's like to have an exam like the one you tossers are forcing Kamea to suffer through."

Sarek furrowed his brow in confusion. He prided himself on his grasp of English, but this word, "tosser", was one with which he was unfamiliar.

A small hand snaked between them and rested itself on the forearm of the lieutenant. Both men turned and came face-to-face with Kamea. She gave them a small smile. "Language, Malcolm," she said.

The lieutenant gave the girl the once over and then lay his hand on her shoulder. "Are you all right?"

She nodded. "Of course. Just a physical." She shifted. "Though that last part was a tad more invasive than I remembered. Phlox skipped that part."

"Are you free to go?"

She shook her head. "Of course not. You know Vulcans. They'll debate the results for weeks. I suggest you start learning Vulcan. We're going to be here a while."

The lieutenant sighed. "Are you hungry?"

The girl grinned. "I could eat." She glanced at Sarek, as though just realizing he was there. "Who's your friend?"

"My name is Sarek," Sarek said. He bowed slightly at the waist, and the girl raised her eyebrows. "I work for V'Las."

The girl snorted. "My sympathies." She grabbed the corner of the lieutenant's jacket at started dragging him towards the exit. "Come on, Malcolm. Let's eat."

Sarek watched them leave. When they were gone, he wandered over to T'Mun, who was reviewing Kamea's information. T'Mun glanced up as he approached. "_Na'shaya_, Sarek. Did you enjoy the examination?"

He inclined his head slightly – it could not be considered a nod, but it was at least an indication that he was considering her question. "More than your patient did, I'm sure."

T'Mun acknowledged his attempt at humor with a curt look. Sarek steeled his gaze and met hers without flinching. He was often being reprimanded for his "human-like" behavior, though he hardly considered a sense of humor to be a bad thing. T'Mun went back to her findings.

Sarek swallowed his sigh and sat down. "What did you conclude?"

The physician shook her head, as though perplexed. "It is confusing," she said. "When I spoke with the administrator, he led me to assume that the girl was lying." She turned to look at Sarek, and he could see the question in her eyes, though it was not evident in the rest of her facial features. "I was under the impression that she was trying to discredit the High Command in order to assist the Syrannites."

Sarek leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "And now you believe that is not the case?"

T'Mun shook her head again. "There are…anomalies in her blood that cannot be explained. The composition, the color… It is logical to conclude that she is who she claims to be."

Sarek pursed his lips. This, he knew, was not what the administrator wanted to hear. "You're certain."

T'Mun's frustration was apparent in her tone. "I am aware of what the administrator wants me to say, and I am prepared to do what is necessary for the preservation of Vulcan society. But, Sarek, this girl…she is telling the truth."

* * *

Malcolm knew he was mothering Kamea, so to speak. But she did not seem to mind. At least, she wasn't complaining. They'd wandered the streets of Shi'Kahr for what seemed like hours before they found anything remotely resembling a restaurant. It was tucked on a narrow side street and looked like something one might find in New Mexico or Arizona back on Earth. A sandstone wall surrounded the open-air patio, which only contained three or four small, circular tables. Apparently, eating out was not big on Vulcan.

The hostess at the restaurant looked surprised to see them, but Kamea spoke to the young woman in fluent Vulcan. Malcolm had absolutely no idea what either of them were saying, but a few moments later they were being led out to the patio. From where they were seated, Malcolm had a pretty good view of the cross-street, which didn't appear to be too busy at the moment.

"It's early for lunch," Kamea said in response to his unasked question, which was why the streets were so dead. "And even though Vulcans are more acclimated to this heat than you or I, most of them still avoid the heat of the day."

He stared at her, and she stared right back. "I hate it when you do that," he said. It was annoying, the way she always seemed to read his mind.

She quirked her lips in a smile. "Why do you think I do it?"

He licked his lips, desperate to ask her about some of those questions the Vulcan doctors had made her answer, but unsure of how to broach the subject. He couldn't very well just come out and ask her something intensely personal like that, when she was so unwilling to share intimate details about her past.

Malcolm cleared his throat. "Don't we get menus?" he asked, looking around for their waitress.

Kamea shrugged. "I already ordered. I hope you don't mind. Also, I hope you like mollusks."

"Mollusks? I thought Vulcans didn't eat meat."

Kamea shrugged again. "My father used to talk about the Vulcan mollusks all the time," she said, using that faraway tone that she reserved only for when she spoke of her parents. "It's one of the things he missed most about Vulcan." She met his eyes, then looked away, almost shyly. "I just…wanted to try them."

They sat in amiable silence for a while. Kamea had dropped her head back to stare at the sky; Malcolm watched the rare passersby on the nearby street. Eventually, he saw a familiar face.

"Koss," Malcolm said, as the Vulcan approached the outer wall of the patio. Kamea's chair screeched against the concrete as she shifted her position.

Koss ignored Malcolm, his eyes locked on Kamea. "I was wondering if I could talk to you."

Kamea cocked an eyebrow, then lifted one shoulder in a barely perceptible shrug and nodded at one of the empty chairs. Koss shifted his eyes to Malcolm, then back to Kamea. She must have noticed the look in his eyes, because she shook her head. "Malcolm stays," she said. "I don't think it would be appropriate for a married man such as yourself to be seen dining with a woman who isn't your wife. Wouldn't you agree?"

Koss didn't answer. Instead, he pulled one of the empty chairs over to the table and dropped into it. "How was your examination?"

Kamea narrowed her eyes. "Awkward."

Koss cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable. "Are you enjoying your time on Vulcan?"

"Koss," Kamea said, resting her elbows on the table, "I hardly think you tracked me down to make idle chitchat, so in the interest of saving time, why don't you just tell me what it is you want?"

Koss took a deep breath but nodded. "I have a question, and as far as I can tell, you're the only one who can give me an answer."

"Can't give you an answer if I don't know the question."

Malcolm pursed his lips. He had a feeling he knew the question that Koss was going to ask; he also had a feeling that this conversation was going to get very uncomfortable very quickly. He half wished Kamea had let Koss chase him away.

"I want to know," Koss said, leaning forward slightly, "what is going on with Commander Tucker and my wife."

Kamea exhaled slowly. "How much time do you have?"

Malcolm leaned closer to Kamea so that he could whisper in her ear, though with Koss's superior hearing, it was probably a futile effort. "You aren't seriously going to tell him?"

Kamea's eyes softened as she stared at Malcolm, but she didn't answer him. She turned back to Koss. They sat in silence once more, as Kamea scrutinized the other man. She eyed him up and down, her gaze piercing. And Malcolm had to give Koss credit, because he didn't once flinch or falter under her stare. After several minutes, Kamea braced her hands on the table and leaned forward, so that she was only inches from Koss. He pulled back slightly, but otherwise did nothing.

"You love her," Kamea said as she sat back down.

Koss cocked his head to the side. "She is my wife."

"So?" Kamea folded her arms across her chest. "Do you love her?"

Koss sighed imperceptibly. "I only want her happiness."

Kamea grinned, wiping her bottom lip with her thumb. "Close enough. I can honestly tell you, Koss, that as of this moment in time, there is nothing going on with Trip and T'Pol."

Koss stared at her for a few moments. It seemed to Malcolm as though he were attempting to gauge the sincerity of Kamea's statement. Apparently, he believed her, because he nodded and rose from his chair. "Do you have any idea how much longer you'll be here?"

Kamea opened her mouth to answer, but Malcolm beat her to it. "We probably won't be here much longer."

Koss nodded. "Then I shall say goodbye."

Kamea smiled and waved. "Bye, Koss."

After Koss had left, Malcolm turned angrily to face Kamea. "So…" he said, "who's Wat?"

Kamea smiled disappeared almost instantly, and her eyes blazed with fire. "You did not seriously just ask me that question."

Malcolm shrugged. "You didn't seem to have any problems telling the doctors all about him."

"If I don't cooperate with them," she said through clenched teeth, "they could lock me up in that cell again. And I am damn tired of being stuck inside, Malcolm." She smiled up at the hostess, who had suddenly appeared with their food. Malcolm watched as Kamea leaned over her plate and inhaled deeply. The ghost of a smile played at her lips, and her eyes were distant as she sat back in her chair.

"Is he an ex-boyfriend?"

Kamea glared at him. "I really don't want to talk about this."

"Why not?"

Kamea sighed. "Fine. You want to know about Wat? Let me tell you about Wat. He broke my heart. He manipulated me. He took advantage of my feelings. He made me feel wanted and desired and beautiful and dirty and used and alone. He is the reason I ended up unconscious in my pod when you guys pulled me aboard. And I don't feel like talking about it."

She abruptly rose from her chair, grabbed her plate, and plopped down at another table. Malcolm sighed and regarded his mollusks.

He had a feeling he would be sleeping alone that night.


End file.
